


Another Silver Screen Cliché - HIATUS

by ninwrites



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Attempt at Humor, Bands, Based on that one line, Blue-Eyed Alec Lightwood, Chaptered, Crime Scenes, Dates, Detectives, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, For reasons, Gen, Hollywood exists in New York because, Investigations, Lydia Branwell & Alec Lightwood Friendship, M/M, Magnus Bane & Isabelle Lightwood Friendship, Romance, and my desire for Alec to be a man in uniform, auditions, but jace is a herondale, i know what the characters say, i like to call this schizophrenic, movie shoots, where Raph pretends to be Simon's 'band manager', you'll see why - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-10-16 09:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: From the glitz and glamorous heartache of the film industry, to the exciting promise and backstabbing nature of record companies and the consistently depressing atmosphere of a dutiful NYPD precinct - life is a paradox of contradictions, and the setting for this tale is no different.Everyone wants something from their life, a good career, a loving family, someone to share the good and the bad times with. And although that is a destination that may be hard for some to arrive at, it can be defiantly stated that all will try.





	1. Hollywood Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> (just skip past the technical inaccuracies because I am neither a cop nor an actor.)
> 
> Welcome to the muddled au no one asked for but that I provided anyway!! Remember that one line in the early part of 2a when Raphael pretends to be Simon's band manager in front of Simon's mum? Yeah. That one line spawned this whole monster of a fic. *shrugs* Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Fic title based on a lyric from 'Actors' by All Time Low.

Magnus hadn't simply broken into the Hollywood scene. He spent six years trying to get out of Indonesia, away from the haunting memories of his parents, and then a another five working for a stream of horrible and borderline-abusive coffee shop owners, before he managed to even get on the small-screen.

He knew, from the beginning, that it would be harder for him than others. Because he's East-Asian, and queer, and completely open about all of it. He refuses to take roles that don't support that, because the lack of visibility for bisexual people especially, let alone people of colour, is so dumfoundedly sparse that he can't stand the thought of adding to the problem.

The only work he'll agree to do is that which will help his community.

Which has limited his options considerably in the past, and a lot of his early film work was independantly-funded short films and TV spots, to get his name out there because he may respect his people, but he also respects his art, his passion.

But now he's in his mid-twenties, and he's starting to get recognised for his talent and his perseverance. He's worked on two independant indie films this year that are gaining quite a bit of buzz, enough for him to be recognised every now and then, and it's only April.

He's finally making the progress he needs to do what he loves for a sufficient career, he has an agent, though not a stylist, as he prefers to dress himself, and he even has his own personal assistant, although he hadn't planned on hiring one - the surprise came after he'd already agreed to hire her.

 

* * *

 

Magnus pushes open the door to his agent's personal office, the gold calligraphied _Lily Chen_ glittering on the glass. His PA, a dark-haired goddess with extremely fast typing skills and a fierce, fiery personality, waits perched on the corner of the dark oak desk.

"So, how was the shoot with _OUT Magazine?_ "

Magnus doesn't attempt to hide his amusement. "As my assistant, you should know better than anyone that I haven't done it yet. I just went and consulted with their stylist to create a few outfits that we both agree upon. The shoot itself isn't for another two weeks."

Isabelle Lightwood, a paragon of proficiency and fashion-savvy herself, simply grins. It's borderline devilish. "I know. But I'll take every chance I can get at reminding you that it's going to happen."

Magnus tries to fight off his own smile, but finds it impossible. Isabelle hops off the desk, handing Magnus his lastest coffee obsession, a large iced caramel mocha with two shots of espresso, and a generous topping of cream and cinnamon. Because he wants it and he likes it and he can have it.

"Just what I needed." Magnus nods at her in thanks, taking a slow sip. A spluttering of laughter bubbles in his throat, escaping through his slightly parted lips.

"I'm going to be in a spread for _OUT Magazine_." Magnus states in curious wonderment. How strange is that? He's going to be in one of _the_ leading LGBT+ supporting publications, because he's sticking to his own morals and dedications with an iron fist.

Isabelle laughs softly. Her kind smile is enough to let him know that she understands completely. "I know. Magnus, you deserve it. You've worked long and hard for this - and imagine what it will mean for others? A visible representation they can align themselves with, and gain support from."

Magnus swallows audibly. It's not exactly something he hasn't considered before, but it's - it's a big deal. The reason he's even doing it is because of the lack of representation, the lack of visibility that he never had growing up, in Indonesia or in America.

"Do I need to pull out a seat?" Isabelle asks, gently.

Magnus blinks, and shakes his head. His breathing is a little faster than normal, but that's something he's sure he can get back to normal. With time, or more coffee. Which ever helps first.

"No, no. I should be fine. Eventually." He takes another sip of his drink, focusing on the sugar, and not the sour taste in the back of his throat. "You can, however, update me on my schedule for today and tomorrow. We have a frantically busy few weeks ahead of us."

Isabelle pulls out her phone with a swift movement. Her fingers are already tapping on the screen before Magnus can even blink. Her speed is one of her best qualities, of which she has an admirable amount.

He'd hired her, plainly speaking, because she told him he needed to. They'd run into each other, quite literally, outside of a casting agency's office, where she'd praised him for his moral perseverance and then promised, pretty much in the same sentence, that she'd be the perfect assistant for him - providing he's ever looking for one.

Then she'd handed over a homemade business card and walked off, leaving him feeling like he'd been struck by the edge of a hurricane.

He'd called and hired her the very next day, on the grounds that she would technically be working as an 'unpaid intern' until he managed to get some traction, something she was suprisingly okay with. That was nearly two years ago, and he's never looked back since.

"You have brunch with Catarina Loss tomorrow at twelve, and you're supposed to be having dinner with Raphael Santiago on Thursday but you haven't decided on a venue yet." Isabelle glances up through coal-black eyelashes. He can feel her judgement, but chooses to ignore it. "Tomorrow you have an appointment with Lily - it was supposed to be today, but she has another meeting - to discuss your next role, apparently she's got a very interesting one, although she hid her excitement well."

Magnus huffs out a choked laugh. "I'm sure she did." Lily is the kind of agent who comes across as cold and blank, but only because she's a professional, and learnt early-on that emotions cloud impact. To do her job to the highest degree she's capable of, she has to appear aloof and detatched.

Hollywood is a cruel place, and image is everything.

"Oh, and we need to talk about that charity fundraiser you want to hold? The one for LGBT+ youth support centres?" Isabelle glances up, pride in her eyes though her stance remains cool and professional. "We've got the cause and I'm sure you've got at least the idea of an outfit in mind, but that's pretty much it."

Magnus twists around a chair and flops gracefully in it, his legs crossed over each other. "Fair point. I don't have an entire outfit in mind, in my defence. Just the vague colour style."

Isabelle perches herself back onto the desk. "I imagined as much."

Magnus frowns, stirring the cream into his coffee. "Does Lily know you sit on her desk?"

"Probably." Isabelle shrugs. "She hasn't said anything, so I'm going to pretend she either doesn't know, or simply doesn't care."

Magnus gestures to her with his coffee. "That sounds like a healthy philosophy to have." He says sarcastically.

"It's working for me so far." Isabelle taps something onto her phone. "So. Dates, guest list, caterers - we have a lot to work on, Magnus."

Magnus waves his hand vaguely. "Go ahead." He shuffles in his seat, getting himself comfortable. It's going to be a long conversation, he can already tell.

Still. He's doing it for a good cause, and it would be far harder if he didn't have Isabelle's quickfire support.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, Lightwood!"

"One minute." Alec holds up his left hand, his right scribbling out the remaining information for his current sheet of paperwork. He's finally made it into the second half of his irritatingly large pile, and he _needs_ to get it done.

He just keeps reminding himself that everyone has to pay their dues, and if he wants to become a proper detective, paperwork is a part of the job he has to accept. It's not easy, but it has to be done.

A fact he swallows better than others.

If it weren't for his sharp reflexes, and his expectations, Alec would have been jarred by the sudden weight on his desk. As it is, he slides his file aside and continues to write, seemingly unbothered by the body perched on his desk.

"Alec." His name is delivered with an exaggerated whine, but Alec ignores it and presses through. Just a few more sentences...

"Alec, I'm hungry."

Alec keeps his attention focused until the last punctuation mark. And only then does he look up.

His best friend, Jace, is actually _pouting_ , arms crossed over his chest with defiance. Alec has to swallow back a laugh. He and Jace met all the way back during their training years at the academy, and he hasn't been able to shake the blonde yet. They'd gotten close within a week, and as irritating as Jace can be, he is a good friend and Alec is sure he'd be lost without him.

He also ocassionally induces borderline homicidal urges in Alec, but Jace claims he's just "bringing out the best" in Alec.

"I was working." Alec states, leaning back in his chair. His cubicle is small, all things considered, but there's enough space for him to work, and just enough for his legs to fit, so he has what he needs.

"And I am starving." Jace responds. "Which is more important?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Alec asks. He thinks the answer is pretty obvious, himself, but he knows that his answer won't be the same as Jace's.

"Are you done yet?" Jace asks, exasperatedly. He turns on Alec's desk, pushing his feet against the arm of the chair.

Alec nudges Jace's leg with his knee, and nods. "Yeah, I can break for lunch. If we don't get called out on anything, I should be done by tonight."

Jace shakes his head, as though he's actually annoyed at Alec for doing his work. "Your priorities are skewed." He announces, hopping off the desk.

Alec tidies the mess left behind, and slips his phone into his pocket. "Just for that, you're buying."

Despite Jace's groan, Alec knows he'll be eating for free.

\-- 

"What's your secret?"

Alec pauses, a forkful of quiche lorraine raised to his mouth. "I'm going to need more information, Jace. That's a pretty vague question."

He doesn't mention that, quite frankly, he doesn't really have a secret. Jace knows everything, actually everything, there's nothing that Alec hasn't told him.

"You move through your paperwork so quickly and it's not even a problem." Jace tears the paper around his wrap disdainfully. "I can't spend an hour on it before I want to rip my own hair out - how do you do it?"

They're at a local cafe, a few blocks away from the precinct - having good food and being a short distance means they spend quite a lot of time there, so much so that each staff member knows them by name. Jace flirts with the female staff, because he's Jace, but Alec prefers to remain respectfully polite.

"I have more patience than you?" Alec guesses. "I don't know, I just get the work done. I don't focus on how much there is, I just - do it."

Jace shakes his head, almost as though he's disappointed in Alec's answer. Or, apparently, lack thereof.

"It's weird." Jace states, a slip of lettuce poking out the corner of his mouth.

"And you're gross." Alec fires back. He unscrews the cap of his mineral water, frowning at Jace's distinct lack of manners.

They eat in relative silence for a while, which isn't unexpected. They spend a fair amount of time together, and sometimes there just aren't things to talk about. Alec doesn't mind the silence, he finds it calming and a nice break from the otherwise hectic hustle and bustle that surrounds him. Jace, however, doesn't seem to regard quietness the same way that Alec does. He has an unwavering need to fill in any pocket he possibly can.

"Are you going to Iz's charity ball on Saturday?" He pipes up.

He and Isabelle had gotten surprisingly close within only a few weeks of meeting each other, and so many years past, they're still good friends. Which can be unfortunate for Alec because they don't mind ganging up against him.

"What charity ball?" Alec had only talked to Isabelle the day before last, and she hadn't mentioned a ball ... that he could remember. Could she have told him and he just not remember?

"You know that indie actor she works for, that Bane guy?" Jace waves his wrap conversationally.

"Magnus Bane," Alec corrects. That much he knows. Isabelle talks about her job a lot, how much she loves it, how much she loves working with Magnus Bane and how much fun she has.

He's watched a few of his movies, too. He's a very good actor, and Alec can understand why he's becoming so popular. Not to mention his unwavering morals, which Alec thinks is a reason in and of itself to respect the man. And he's handsome, but that's not something Alec really allows himself to think about, that often. At all.

"Anyway," Jace dismisses Alec's interruption with a curt shake of his head. "She's helping him throw a charity ball thing in support of LGBT kids - I think that's who it's for, she was talking very quickly when she called me."

Alec traces back over his most recent call with his sister. She'd mentioned how busy she was, and he'd told her he was proud of how she was handling things ... she'd mentioned something big coming up, but not the specifics, just that it was important and she was excited.

"I knew she was working on something - just not what it actually was." Alec admits.

"So, are you coming?"

Alec shrugs. Such fancy events aren't his scene, and he usually feels uncomfortably out of place - but it's for his sister, and even if he had the guts, he'd feel guilty about not going. It's something obviously very important to her, considering how sparse her communication has been.

It may appear like he has a choice, but realistically, he knows that he doesn't.

"I'm going to have to, aren't I?" He's joking, of course. Jace chuckles deeply, understanding Alec's underlying point.

"If you want to live," He smiles sympathetically. "Then, yeah, I'd say so."

A ball. A fancy, glorified party with at least a hundred strangers he'll have to make smalltalk with, and explain over and over again that yes, he is a detective, he's simply working his way up to a complete qualification. Because when people outside of the career hear he's a junior detective, they assume it means he isn't competent enough to be a full detective. He's perfectly competent, he just doesn't have enough experience yet.

Despite being at the same point in his career as Alec, Jace has a smoother way of explaining things without digging himself a deep hole.

Alec runs his hand over a groove in the table. "I'm going to have to get a suit, aren't I?"

He has a suit, but it's black to the finest degree, and more something one would wear to a funeral than a gala thing.

Jace inclines his head. "Probably," He acknowledges, patting Alec's hand in a gesture of mock sympathy. "But don't worry, I'll help you find something. Don't need Isabelle freaking out anymore than she's probably going to be."

"Thanks."

He'll need to message Isabelle later, let her know he's definitely coming and that she'll be fine, because she _will_ be, he knows her and he knows she'll throw a phenomenal party.

He'll also need to apologise in advance for embarrassing her on account of them being related and him being the awkward antisocial lanky tree he is.

 

* * *

 

When Simon walks into his apartment, a measly hour later than he expected, it's to find his roommate, and oldest friend, standing on a table. Naturally.

"Hey, C." He greets, leaning his guitar case against the front door.

Clary looks up startled. She mustn't have heard him come in. Not really a surprise, she's an artistic type, in interests and personality, so finding her abstractly spaced out isn't something he's new to.

"Hey, Si, when did you get back?" She asks. She's still standing on the table. Simon isn't sure if he wants to ask.

"Like, just then." Simon glances around, trying to figure out what he's missed.

Nothing seems necessarily out of order. Clary's obviously been working all day, there's breakfast dishes cluttered in the sink and four empty mugs littered around the lounge room, which is it's usual erratic mess. There's a plastic sheet laid out on the floor beneath paint jugs and a scattering of paintbrushes and pencils. Her washed denim overalls are splattered with colour and tears, though some of them could be old, and her fiery red hair is pulled up into a messy bun with strands attempting escape from their hairband bonds.

Nothing seems terribly out of the ordinary. Which Simon takes as a good sign.

"How was your day?" Clary asks.

"Interesting." Simon replies, side-stepping a stray shoe. They really need to take a minute and clean up. "We might be getting a new band manager. Like, an actual, proper does-it-for-professionally band manager"

"You're sticking to Champagne Enema, then?" Clary smirks. She's been there for all of his unfortunate band name changes.

"Is there any other choice?" Simon offers what he's been told is his award-winning smile. (Admittedly the girl who told him that was blindingly intoxicated, but he'll take it.) "It's both classy and intriguing - much like our band. And it's frontman, of course."

Clary laughs softly. "Of course."

Simon leans his elbows on a wayward dining chair and sighs. "I must ask Clarissa - what on earth are you doing standing on our table?"

Clary indicates a sheet of paper at her feet. Leaning closer, Simon notices the odd lines and faint paint splotches.

"I've been working on this piece for hours, and I keep scrapping it and starting again because I don't like how it's coming out." Clary's shoulders sag. "So, I'm trying to find out if a better angle will help spark some inspiration."

Simon nods. "Makes sense." Which, in a way it does. Part of why his and Clary's relationship works is because they're both so weird that they compliment each other's strange spaces.

"You hungry?" He asks, standing up straighter. "I'm in the mood for pizza."

"With cheesy garlic bread and melting chocolate pudding?" Clary's face lights up adorably.

Simon's glad he's gotten past his hormone-induced crush on her, it was unhealthy for their relationship. Now he loves her appropriately, in the best-friend-whom-I'd-die-for kind of way.

"How preposterous to suggest otherwise. I'll call them up now." Simon gestures loosely at the table. "You can clear up this artistic necessity."

Clary mock-salutes him and hops off the table. He envies her grace. The only such elegance he has is with the pluck of his guitar strings, or the even cadance of his voice, and even that is weak in comparison. Then again, it is apparently good enough for the likes of a new band manager and a prospective EP, and maybe even then an album, should things go as well as they're appearing too. They've already scored a record deal, in writing, so he has a fair hope that they will, indeed keep looking up.

Simon is actually so excited that he thinks he might spontaneously combust. Or inwardly combust, he really is starving.

God, he needs to call for some pizza _now._

 

* * *

 

Raphael isn't exactly sure how he became a band manager. It was never his plan.

And he'd had a plan, a five-year-one. He'd begun working at a hotel in his teenage years, and his end goal was to become a hotel manager. He went through college, through his business and his economic and his management degrees, everything he needed to perform to the highest standard possible.

But managing a hotel didn't live up to the idea he'd held so sacredly in his mind. He had qualifications but nothing to do with them.

Somewhere along the line he'd ended up working for Dumort Records, and he doesn't hate it. It wasn't what he'd imagined for himself, but the pay is excellent and he enjoys the structure and the unstable nature that keeps him on his toes.

He doesn't enjoy betrayal, however.

\--

The voicemail is short and succint.

_**"Your client 'Good vs Evil' has moved to Idris Recordings."** _

Raphael resists the urge to throw his phone against the wall, because that would be counter-productive. He'd made that band what it is, taken them from nothing and brought them up to the level of popularity they're at now.

How dare they just dump him without a warning? If they didn't want him to manage them anymore, then fine, but they could have at least discussed it with him.

That's just disrespectful.

He does, in the end, send an articulately worded and extremely passive-aggressive email to the co-ordinator of the record label concerning how the change was handled and how horribly he was treated. Then he ventures deeply into his liquor cabinet and makes himself a vodka-heavy Bloody Mary in compensation of his troubles and pretends that he doesn't have a job that's currently threatening to ruin his way of life.

Raphael then takes a few days off work, because he can, because he doesn't currently have a singular client and he doesn't care about pumping the tires of other people's bands. He knows that he'll need to find a new one, and soon, because if he doesn't he'll just get signed up to some teen-bop pop group who he'll want to kill within the first five seconds of meeting them.

So he spends a whole day at an art gallery, away from the music that haunts his subconscious, and then at night he reads and casually drinks wine and generally just enjoys himself in ways that he hasn't been able to for the past few months due to his agonisingly hectic schedule.

On the second day, it's all pretty much the same - calm and easy and light. Up until he heads to lunch, that is, because then all of his scheduled plans go astray.

\-- 

"They just dropped you?"

His old friend, and dear one, though he won't admit it, stares at him incredulously. Raphael had met Magnus Bane all the way back in college - Magnus had been working at the closest coffee shop to campus, and they ended up seeing a lot of each other.

Magnus has come a long way - he's now on the fast-track to being a hot-shot Hollywood actor, but Raphael had been there for his lowest moments, as had Magnus in return, and the two are now, begrudgingly, good friends.

Raphael waves his knife idly. "No prior warning beforehand, I got a voicemail saying they'd switched to Idris Recordings." He smirks, feeling the sharpness spread like the edge of a knife. "So I've taken an impromptu break until I determine I am prepared to return with my dignity still intact."

Magnus grins, the sunlight pouring through the windows making him look iridescenet. Raphael knows that is far from the case, but refrains from comment. He'd promised Magnus as a part of a New Years resolution to at least _attempt_ to be kinder. He personally thinks resolutions are flimsy and simply a desperate attempt for people to delude themselves into believing they have control over their own desires and proclivities - but Magnus's resolution is to stop whining as much about his romantic life, or currently lack thereof, so it's not a one-sided agreement.

Magnus raises his glass in a toast. "Well, that sounds perfectly fair to me." He tilts his head, slightly.

Raphael just waits.

"Are you going to sign another band?" Magnus asks.

Raphael shrugs. He hasn't really bothered thinking about it, much. He knows it will happen once he returns, but he's currently enjoying his break too much to waste time thinking about what comes next.

"I'll probably get signed to one." Raphael cuts into his steak. "But I'm not concerned with that yet."

Magnus nods in understanding. "Naturally. It's still fresh and raw - the betrayal, the heartache-"

Raphael cuts him off with a sharp glare. He tries to ignore Magnus' irritatingly bright and smug grin. " _Dios_ , shut up. This is why we don't spend a lot of time together it's because you're such a-"

Magnus laughs, effectively drowning out Raphael's Spanish tirade. "If you don't mind, I don't need to be cursed in Spanish, today."

On the table, Magnus' phone lights up, vibrating on the silk covering. He glances at it, frowns, and then turns it over. Raphael watches the movement silently, noting the slight nuances and ticks his friend gives off.

"What is stressing you?" He asks, short and to the point as he prefers to be.

"I'm hosting a charity ball on Saturday," Magnus explains, his painted fingers dancing across his phone case. "But I've only seriously started planning last week, and I'm quickly running out of time."

"You're not proving me wrong," Raphael reminds him, with a sly quirk of lips. He does, after a second of internal satisfaction, take pity on Magnus. He does appear to be bothered by the limit he's unwittingly placed himself within.

"What can I do to help?" He regrets the words as soon as they're out, if only because of the way Magnus' face lights up at the question.

"Raphael, are you actually offering your time and services?" He asks, eyes comically wide.

"I can take it back." Raphael warns, though he isn't sure how menacingly it actually comes across.

"Don't you dare." Magnus aims a fork in his direction like a deadly weapon. "You offered and I am taking it, simple as that."

Raphael rolls his eyes. It's barely fond. "What do you need me to do?"

Magnus grins and turns over his phone, unlocking it with a quick press of his fingerprint. He scans through what Raphael assumes is a list, muttering to himself as he does.

"My assistant and I have already compiled a guest list, and she's working on sending out invitations today. Naturally, I have my outfit sorted, that was the first thing I handled. But I was kind of hoping you could help me on the day, itself. You know, setting things up, organising the funds after the event has finished - you know how bad at such organisational things I am."

Raphael shakes his head. "I can't believe you're attempting flattery, Bane. I will help you, because I _am,_ contrary to popular belief, a good person. And I'd prefer not to give the universe a chance to stack against me anymore than it already has."

Magnus tilts his head, curiously. "You know, if you have any contacts that would be interested in playing..."

Raphael stares, entirely unimpressed. "None of them will play for free."

Magnus rolls his shoulders back. It's irritating how unfazed he seems by this whole thing. Perhaps that's how he gets so far with his thick moral fibre. He can't brush things off if nothing falls onto his shoulders in the first place.

"I will help." Raphael grimaced. "But don't even consider trying to make me a greeter because I will turn everyone away."

Magnus nods in acquiscence. "Wouldn't dare."

He lifts his glass, and Raphael toasts him because he's a gentleman like that. He's not sure entirely what he's gotten himself into, but then again he'll find out pretty soon. He can practically feel his impending regret, like the distasteful anticipation of a hangover after one too many Malbec's.

"With all respect, thank you, Raphael. Your help is greatly appreciated." Magnus' eyes are soft and humble and Raphael can't stand having such an effect on someone.

He has a carefully crafted manner about him where he appears emotionally-distant in a delicate way, and he doesn't want anything to crack it. He wouldn't have made it as far as he has without his glass wall, despite how fragile it can feel.

"You sound like you work for a call center." Raphael snipes drily

"I'm an actor," Magnus declares airily. "I have many voices."

"And none of them modest."

They jest and they snipe but at the end of the day, Magnus knows that Raphael will be there for him when he needs it. And Raphael is aware that, in his darkest moments, he'll always have Magnus to turn to.

Though he's hoping to keep any dark moments at bay.


	2. Keep Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec begins work on a case with someone new and Isabelle features in 90% of scenes.
> 
> \---
> 
> Literally, that's the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. Between my cold, and Malec Week, and just general life, this slipped my mind. But it's okay, I have a semi-established schedule - one chapter, every two-three weeks, as the chapters get longer and therefore take a little more time to write. :) 
> 
> \--
> 
> this is an AU, and because of that, some things do differ, both from book!canon and show!canon. consider it an awkward mesh of both. :)

For all the years that Alec has known his sister - that being for her entire life - she's never been awake before he has. Especially now that they're living together, and he's working with the local NYPD precinct, he's always awake before she is. 

Which is why it comes as such a surprise when he enters the kitchen at 6am Friday morning, and finds his sister at the dining table, coffee in one hand and phone in the other. 

"Iz?" Alec drags a hand through his raggled bed-hair. "What are you doing awake so early?" 

Her hair is fashioned in two loose braids, and she's still in a thin silk top, so he knows she can't have been awake for too long. But, still. It's weird. 

"I have a lot to do today." Isabelle explains, glancing up her phone. "The big gala is tomorrow. I needed a head start - Magnus has two auditions today which cramps his schedule a bit, so I'm picking up the slack for him." 

She smiles, and then her attention is back on her phone, and Alec is left feeling unstable. 

He pours himself a steaming cup of coffee, and drops a piece of bread into the toaster. He's not a fan of breakfast, considering he has to eat it pretty much right after he wakes up, but he understands and respects the necessity. He's far too run-down without it, and in his line of work, less than optimal standard is not an option. It's not even a consideration, so Alec has made peace with breakfast, on the grounds that he really doesn't have much else of a choice. 

In the time it takes him to make his breakfast and plop himself down at the table, Isabelle hasn't once looked up from her phone. 

"Iz, you're going to deteriorate your eyes if you keep them locked on your screen like that." He chastises, biting off a corner piece of crunchy toast. 

Isabelle shrugs. "I could pull off glasses." 

Alec laughs softly, and nods. There isn't anything much he can really say in response to that, so he eats his honey on toast in silence and watches Isabelle work. She's smirking, so clearly his silence is appreciated, and she understands that he's only saying it because he cares. Although, yeah, she probably could pull off glasses, because his sister has an uncanny ability to make anything look good, an ability that he, unfortunately, does not possess. That doesn't mean that he wants her to ruin her eyes, though. 

Alec stands up, once he's finished, and carries his dishes to the sink. He's just finished rinsing his mug when Isabelle pipes up: "Have you got a suit, yet?" 

He's thankful that his back is turned, so that she can't see his face when he answers. Apparently, despite training to remain passive and blank in most situations, his sister is dutifully skilled in picking up what he's trying to hide. She claims that he gives it away, but he thinks she's just  _that_  nosy. 

"Uh..." He stalls, turning the pressure of the tap up so that he can pretend not to hear her above the noise. 

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. 

"I can pick one up for you?" Isabelle offers. He hears the dull scrape as she pushes her chair back. "I'm already picking up my dress, and I have to meet with the band Magnus has hired to make sure they have appropriate clothing, and understand what's required of them for the night, but I can probably find you something while I'm out." 

"Uh, thanks, but I'm good." Alec shuts the tap off and glances over his shoulder. "I appreciate the gesture, but I'm sure I can pick out a suit." 

Isabelle looks at him, her lips pressed together. He hates it when she looks at him like that. It's the same look she had when he first came out to her, shaken and terrified and barely fourteen, though this time there's less emotional sympathy and more fond pity. 

"I am perfectly capable, Isabelle!" He informs her. 

Her forehead crinkles slightly, and he bites back a retort about wrinkles. It's too early in the morning to be having this kind of conversation, let alone to spark an argument that isn't even worth it in the end. 

"Alright, I believe you." Isabelle states, although she looks like she's lying. There's a twitch to her eye that gives her away. "But, if you need anything-" 

"I don't." Alec promises. 

"If you do, just let me know." Isabelle finishes, seemingly mindless of his interruption. 

He sighs, but nods anyway, because it will keep her happy. As he passes he drops a kiss to the top of her head - it's rare these days for her to not be wearing heels that bring her closer to his height, and he's always liked the difference, for some reason. She'd claim it's a protective, older-brother kind of thing. And, as always, she'd probably be right. 

"Don't work too hard." Isabelle calls out as he heads for his room. 

"Ditto," He calls back, smiling as he does so. 

His priorities switch to work, because that's closer than the gala and all in all a whole lot less stressful. 

 

* * *

  
 

Isabelle Lightwood is good at her job. It's a plain understandable fact. And she knows it. 

So when she's tasked with consulting with the band her employer has hired for his charity gala, she takes it in her stride with the full intention of getting it done, efficiently and perfectly. Nevermind that she hasn't met the band before, knows nothing about them bar their odd name and the fact that Magnus knows of them through a family friend. 

None of that matters. First impressions are all that matters. 

Isabelle has deliberately dressed as such. White ruffled blouse with pin-sized black dots, a black pencil skirt and grey heels somewhere between kitten and stiletto, small enough to be considered professional, but tall enough to give her an air of intimidation. Her hair is done up in an intricate braid that runs down with height heavy at the top, her makeup is deliberately toned and natural, and her jewelry is artistically minimalist; a necklace with a silver teardrop pendant from her father, matching earrings, the signet ring she received at thirteen on her right hand and the birthstone-topped silver twisted ring that Alec got her when she was sixteen. 

It may just be a up-and-coming indie band she's meeting with now, but retaining an air of confidence and style is important in all areas of her job, and she has a lot to do today. 

If she makes an important impression on the members of the band, well, they're more likely to listen to her then. 

"I'm Isabelle Lightwood, I'm here to see  _Champagne Enema_  on behalf of Magnus Bane." She flashes her brightest smile at the receptionist of Dumort Records. 

 _Anna_. She'll remember that, though the girl appears rather mousy and unassuming. 

"Of course." Anna smiles, and then taps something on her keyboard. "I'll let them know." 

Isabelle scans the room quickly. It's all shining metals and clear glass, sophisticated and clean, which contrast surprisingly well with the varying shades of dark furniture. 

Anna glances over to a rather muscular man off to the side, dressed in a well-fitted black suit that hugs him tightly in all of the right places, and beckons him forward. "Walker, can you please direct Miss Lightwood to Conference Room B?" 

Walker nods curtly and steps forward. Anna offers Isabelle a pleasant smile, looking over the top of her computer and waves a delicate hand in the direction of the hallway. "The band will be with you presently." 

Isabelle smiles back because manners are important, in life let alone in her job, and follows Walker's lead. He's tall, built like a bodyguard, with a firm presence that probably intimidates weaker people. She's silently curious about what his role actually is, and the feminist inside of her wonders if he's directing her because it's part of his job description or because she's a woman. 

Either way she'll take it in stride. If it is because she's a woman, then they'll learn soon enough that her gender doesn't make her any less powerful or any less good at what she does. 

"Here you are, Miss. Conference Room B." Walker opens the door and stands with his arm outstretched. 

"Thank you, sir." Isabelle nods, and then steps through, head held high. 

There's a long white table, and gleaming silver chairs in front of floor-to-ceiling gold-paneled glass windows. Framed records line the charcoal walls, and Isabelle runs a hovering manicured hand in front of it. She knows better than to touch them, but it's astounding to be in front of them. Bands she knows, bands she recognises and have listened to. 

Isabelle's made it to the platinum record for 'Good vs Evil', a band even Alec begrudgingly likes, when the door opens. Thankfully she's collected herself before the members of the band walk in, hands on her hips and head held up strongly. 

"I'm Isabelle Lightwood, I work for Magnus Bane." She greets them smoothly. "My apologies, I am not aware of your names." 

The frontman is the one who steps forward first. "I'm Simon. Simon Lewis. Lyricist and lead singer. Sometimes I strum a guitar, too." His smile is sweet but a tad dorky, his nose bridged by thick black glasses, his hair a little fluffed, like he tried to make it artfully messy and didn't quite achieve his end-goal. 

He's attractive, in a nerdy way. But his looks aren't her priority. 

"This is our lead guitarist Maureen Brown," He nods to a mocha-skinned girl with short bouncy curls and a slightly apprehensive smile. She waves, though, which Isabelle takes as a positive. 

"And this is our killer drummer Jordan Kyle," Simon jerks his thumb in the direction of a lean guy with wraparound tattoos on his right bicep. He's got a sunny smile, bright enough to be that of a lead singer, were the position not already taken. 

"It's good to meet you. I hate to be blunt," Isabelle allows the corner of her mouth to quirk sharply. That's a bold lie, but they don't need to know that. "But I have a lot to do, and I'm sure that you all have busy schedules yourselves." 

Isabelle notices Simon's slight shift in weight, but doesn't comment. She pulls three thin binders out of her bag and hands them to each member of the band. "These hold all of the information you will need to know for tomorrow evening. Event code, dress attire, scheduled times, et cetera." 

She smiles sweetly, though there's a hardness to her eyes. "Please don't be late. This is very important, to Magnus, and to me, and to the guests." 

Simon nods, and there's something in his expression that reassures her. "Trust me, we get that. It's important to us, too." 

Isabelle flicks her gaze fleetingly over all of them, resting momentarily on Simon's. "I'm glad to hear it. I must be off, but thank you all for meeting with me. And for contributing to tomorrow's event. If there's a problem, don't hesitate to call, my details are in the binders." 

They aren't being paid, interestingly enough. That was something Magnus had been willing to consider, but they offered to play free-of-charge, grateful for the opportunity. Isabelle had admired them for that on paper, but meeting them in person has only reinforced her previous belief that they are the best choice. 

And by the way the staff at Dumort Records are treating them, they're more than capable of becoming popular with just their talent alone. 

 

* * *

  
 

When Alec walks into the precinct after his lunch break, there's a woman waiting at his desk. He shares a quizzical gaze with Jace and then heads forward to find out why his previously boring day has suddenly changed direction. 

He doesn't even get a chance to say 'excuse me?'. 

"Detective Lightwood?" 

Alec nods, hesitantly, and offers his hand the way he's been taught to in the presence of colleagues and higher-ups, which this woman seems to be. She takes it with a firm shake and a pressed smile. 

"I'm Detective Branwell, a junior detective from the 99th precinct. I have a case I'd like to work on with you, both for the sake of experience and because I've read some of your files and I think you're a brilliant contribution to the NYPD." 

Alec isn't used to flattery or compliments, let alone when they're delivered with such brash openness. He has no doubt that Detective Branwell believes what she's said, which is perhaps the most astounding part. 

"Thank you..." Alec pauses, wondering if he should refer to her by her full title. 

Detective Branwell smiles, and it's a little softer. "Lydia." 

Alec smiles back, because it feels appropriate. "So, this case?" 

Lydia picks up a slim manila folder around an inch and a half thick, and hands it over for him to look at. Inside, there's a profile image of a slim, dark-haired woman with a hesitant smile, and light green eyes clipped to the front. Behind that image is the same woman, sprawled on a tiled floor with bent legs and blood pooled around her head, her eyes thankfully closed. 

Deceased bodies aren't a new phenomenon for Alec, it's part of his chosen career. But every time he sees one it hits him just as hard as the last, because this used to be a living, breathing person with family and friends and a life. A life that has been snuffed out like a candle flame. 

"This is Kristen Hall, twenty-one years of age, resident of Brooklyn Heights." Lydia states, as Alec flicks through the images. All of the currently compiled information is there, details about Kristen's work life, what personal details they've managed to gather so far. 

"She was murdered yesterday morning around 10:48, cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma but the medical examiner is currently running through another autopsy to be certain. The son of the store owner found her - he'd ducked out the back to move out some stock, as Kristen had been the only one in the store, and when he came back out, he found her ... like that." 

"Makes sense. Who else is on the case?" Alec asks, closing the file. He assumes that Lydia, and the other people on the case, have their own copies. That's usually how it seems to work. And he needs a break from the images. 

"No one." At Alec's puzzled look, she smiles, a slip of laughter escaping with an exhale of breath. "It's a minor case, what appears to be petty robbery turned homicide. Captain Garroway seems to trust you a lot, and Sergeant Aldertree, my supervisor, doesn't want 'resources wasted'." 

Lydia smiles wryly, and Alec bites back a snigger. "Yeah, he's like that. Exactly what you're thinking. Between you and me, I think I prefer Captain Garroway." 

Alec wants to remain neutral, because that would be the professional thing to do, but he can't deny the preference many people seem to have for his captain - a kind-hearted yet firm and incredibly skilled man, who manages to be both a collected boss and a good friend, even to the younger members of the precinct. 

"We're very lucky, here, to have Garroway as our captain." Alec acknowledges. Lydia seems to understand his veiled meaning, though. 

It's too early to really say, but Alec thinks he likes her. Both as a fellow detective and as a general person. 

"Have you visited the crime scene yet?" Alec asks. 

Lydia shakes her head. "I was only given the case yesterday afternoon, I've been familiarising myself with the facts. I was invited to choose another detective to work on the case, which took up most of my morning, until I discovered your file and determined that out of everyone, you were - are - my best option. You're skilled and proficient, and I have a feeling we'll get on fairly well together." 

Alec smiles. He has that feeling too. 

 

* * *

  
 

"I need this role." 

Despite her cool composure, Magnus notices a Lily's mouth twitch, just slightly. "I figured, that's why I worked so hard to get it for you." 

The role is that of a youth worker who starts up his own halfway house for troubled teens, and helps a select group of them discover that the price of deviance isn't worth paying, and that there is beauty to be found in life, if one works hard enough to find it. 

It's a slightly different role than that he usually finds himself playing, and he's interested in taking it on. Providing he nails the audition, of course. 

"Even just the snippet they've given me for the audition, it's so brilliantly written," Magnus gushes, crossing one leg over the other. 

Lily leans forward, hands clasped together on her desk. "And it ties in nicely with your charity gala. I'd suggest dropping hints about that, maybe inviting the producers and casting directors? Not to sway their judgment, if they like you they like you, but just because they seem to have very similar morals, and having a connection with them could be helpful for the future. Especially if this gala becomes an annual thing." 

Magnus nods, understanding her point, even if she thinks it's misconstrued. "After the audition then. Casually, with the clarification that they're invited because of who they are and not what I want." 

"And people underestimate your character," Lily quips, her dark eyes flashing with amusement. 

"Better that than underestimating my agent," Magnus replies. He stands up with a flourish, straightening out his maroon tunic, tightened at the waist with a thick black belt, paired with charcoal jeans and silver high-tops. 

"I'd best be off, parts to audition for and all that. Of course, I will be seeing you at the aforementioned gala tomorrow, yes?" 

"I don't seem to have much else of a choice, unfortunately." Lily scowls half-heartedly. "Don't think I'm dressing up, though, you're not that important to me." 

Magnus blows her a kiss and exits her office, an extra skip to his step. He's nervous about his audition, of course, but he's excited because it's such a brilliant part, and he's always found that being positive helps him relax. Whether he gets the role or not, it's always better to make a good impression in case other roles come up in the future. And he has a reputation he's trying to build up, after all. 

Hard to maintain one of those if he makes an ass of himself in front of people who actually matter, as opposed to those who simply think they do. 

 

* * *

  
 

Alec holds up the caution tape for Lydia to duck under. She nods, grateful, and leads him towards the center of the crime scene. There's police scattered around the area, and evidence of CSI, but the scene itself is fairly clear, most of the hustle and bustle restricted inside the store. 

It doesn't seem to matter how many times Alec arrives at a crime scene, he's always momentarily startled by the surreal sight of yellow markers and the reminder that, in most cases, someone has had their life taken away. 

Outside of the store, between a newspaper stand and a laminated poster for a soda brand, waits a weathered man, silver-haired in a plaid button-down and brown corduroy pants, his hands clutched together anxiously. 

"This is Ivan Vasilir, the owner of the store where the crime took place." Lydia offers the trembling man a soft smile. "Mr Vasilir, I'm Detective Lydia Branwell, and this is Detective Alec Lightwood, we're here to ask you some questions." 

Ivan Vasilir nods, his lips pressed together firmly. Alec recalls his details; mid-fifties, around 5'6, immigrated from Russia when he was twenty-four with his young pregnant wife and has lived in New York ever since. Fairly mundane past, keeps to himself often, his neighbours and common customers of the store have nothing but the kindest things to say about him. No past criminal record with the exception of a false accusation of tax evasion back in 1993 that was dismissed a few weeks after it was filed. 

It's a pretty fair assumption that he's purely a witness, not a suspect. Alec hasn't had a chance to review the security footage yet, either, but there hasn't been any incriminating evidence towards him. 

"Mr Vasilir-" 

"Please, son. Call me Ivan." 

Alec nods, flipping his notebook to a clear page. It's slightly unorthodox, but Alec knows it's more productive to make the witness feel comfortable. "Ivan, I know you've spoken to the police, but I have a few different questions for you." 

Ivan wrings his weathered hands together. "I understand. Ask away - anything I can do to help the poor girl." 

"Ivan, did you see any suspicious characters in your store in the previous weeks leading up to the incident? Anyone who lingered around the store for longer than it seemed appropriate." 

Ivan is shaking his head before Alec has finished his question. "No, sir. A lot of people come in and out of my store, I am not in the habit of cataloguing them. But I didn't notice anything unusual, if that is what you are asking." 

Alec jots the information down in shorthand. "Okay. Before yesterday morning, did you see Miss Hall in or around your store?" 

"A few times yes. She is a, uh, a regular. Comes in a few times a week, to pick up the odd thing, a drink or milk or a magazine, small convenience things." Ivan frowns, his creased forehead furrowing. "Although, now that I am thinking about it, I have not seen her this past week. Or the week before." 

Lydia and Alec share a look. Alec writes the new facts down in haphazard dot points, he can always re-write them later. 

"When Miss Hall came in yesterday, can you describe her behaviour for us? Was she acting out of the ordinary in any way?" 

Ivan pauses in thought. "Hm. Not that I remember, I - she seemed to be moving around in a hurry, you know-" Ivan rotates his hand. "Rushing around. I thought she was just late for something, that she had somewhere to go so I didn't pay much attention. I had other customers." Ivan looks heartbroken. "My deepest apologies. Perhaps if I had been paying closer attention-" 

"Mr Vasilir," Lydia gently intervenes, not foregoing pleasantries the way Alec had. "There is nothing to apologise for. You did what anyone else in your position would have done." 

Ivan looks apprehensive, but something in him believes her, or is capable of it. "I still feel I should have done more." 

Alec purses his mouth sympathetically. "This is an odd question, but did you ever see Miss Hall interact with other customers? Any arguments or raised voices, anything that caught your attention?" 

Ivan glances back, into his store. Alec has no idea how this must be affecting him - a murder inside his store. The poor man - it's his lifeline, and now it will always carry with it the connotation of death. 

"There have been, arguments, in my store before. People cutting in line or taking something another person was reaching for. It is all very childish, and either I, or my son Nikolay, break it up before anything can happen. But I do not think I have ever seen Miss Kristen in such a situation, before. No, no, she is-" Ivan's face tightens painfully. "She  _was_  too sweet for such a thing." 

Alec glances at Lydia. "Anything you want to ask?" 

He can see the gears ticking in her mind, but she shakes her head. 

Alec closes his notebook carefully. He feels winded by the influx of news, but doesn't let it show. "Thank you for your help, Ivan. I think we have enough for today, but there is a chance we might need to consult with you again in the future." 

Ivan nods. He pats Alec's forearm, and then touches Lydia's gently. She remains impassive, but Alec can see that she's humbled by it. "Anything I can do, I will. You are both good, very good people." 

"Thank you, Mr Vasilir." Lydia hands over a card, the NYPD label printed clearly in the middle. "Please feel free to contact us with anymore information; if you remember something, or see something suspicious, please don't hesitate." 

"Thank you for your time." Alec bows his head slightly, and Ivan smiles back. 

Alec glances at Lydia, a psychic conversation passing through them. It's more information than they had, but it's not really what they need. He has a feeling that this won't be an easy case, and she seems to agree with him. 

 

* * *

  
 

 _"The audition?"_  

Magnus laughs into the speaker of his phone, giddy and bubbling. He feels like he's actually walking on air. 

"Went brilliantly, my dear, absolutely brilliantly." Magnus skips over a crack in the pavement. "They loved me. I know that's preposterous to say but I really think they did. I poured my heart and soul into each line - the looks on their faces once I had finished ... it was honestly awestruck. I'm actually impressed with myself." 

Isabelle huffs a breathy laugh. He can practically see her roll her eyes at him.  _"I had no doubt, Magnus. Lily let me peek at the script, it's definitely your role."_  

"Your support is boundless, Isabelle." He may talk a big game, but it's all a farce. He cares about this role more than he is willing to admit, and while he does believe that he did a good job, well enough to secure the role, he isn't left free of doubt. "I only hope you're right." 

 _"Did they give you any indication as to when they'll let you know?"_  There's a tightness to Isabelle's voice. She's aware that it can often take days to weeks, and that's just to get a call back. 

"I got the feeling it would be sometime early next week," Magnus explains, attempting to keep his tone neutral. "They seem excited, but clearly I'm not the only one auditioning." 

 _"You are the best, however."_  Isabelle reassures him. He doesn't tell her enough, how grateful he is for her. Maybe he should send her a bouquet, or something of the like. Something to say thank you. 

 _"I suppose the only thing left for you to do is prepare for this gala. Are you nervous?"_  Isabelle teases. 

"Between you and me, I'm absolutely terrified." Magnus barely dodges a stray elbow, it's owner too busy with the Bluetooth glued to his bald head. God, he loves New York, he does, but sometimes... 

"But I'm not going to let my fear rule me. I am going to make this gala the perfect event it deserves to be, and if I end up preloading before the guests arrive, well, I'm lucky I have a good relationship with liquor." 

Isabelle laughs, but Magnus has the feeling it is more for his benefit.  _"The bar will be well-stocked. Speaking of, I just got off the phone with Maia a few minutes before you called. She's all good to go, Bat's going to work as a server with her, and he'll help load any heavy things."_  

"One of us is going to have to kiss him, then." Magnus replies. "To express our gratitude." 

 _"Maybe after the guests have gone, then we'll discuss who's lucky enough."_ Isabelle may not be joking. Magnus finds it hard to tell in these situations. Bat is a rather handsome man, after all.  _"The band has been - well, for lack of a better phrase, debriefed about the event. They're all very excited. The dorky frontman especially."_  

"In case you haven't realised, my sweet Isabelle, that dorky frontman is the best friend of Clarissa, whom I have a fond affinity with." Magnus adjusts his sunglasses, the glare from the sun bouncing off an obnoxiously metal shop window frame. 

He understands where Isabelle is coming from, Simon is a bit dorky, in a sort of sweet way. They have this thing going on where Magnus pretends he doesn't know Simon's name, and in turn Simon believes him. It's all very fun. 

 _"I haven't forgotten, Magnus. I am good at my job."_  He hears a muffled noise in the background, and then Isabelle's exaggerated sigh.  _"I'm sorry, Magnus, that's Cheryl from the catering company you wanted to hire. I'll have to love and leave you."_  

"I'd be utterly lost without you." Magnus states. 

They exchange farewells, and Magnus hangs up, leaving Isabelle to her busy schedule. He has another audition in forty minutes, one for a three-episode minimum guest spot in a courtroom drama with good reviews. He's less worried about whether he gets this role than that of the film, though that doesn't mean he'll perform to any lesser standard. 

Besides - any audition is good experience, or so he's been told. And the gala is tomorrow, which is a more fun thing to focus his attention on anyway. 

Beautiful people at a beautiful venue for a beautiful purpose. 

 

* * *

  
 

"I'm fine." 

Alec scoffs, the sound echoed by Isabelle. Jace crosses his arms over his chest begrudgingly. He's at their apartment for dinner, because Alec is trained to notice the small things and Jace has been distinctly moody since lunch. Alec doubts it's because of a bad sandwich. 

"You're like a petulant child, Jace." Isabelle remarks, swinging her feet onto his lap. She's been tapping away idly at her phone for the past hour, but it isn't as all-consuming as it had been earlier that morning. 

"Correction," Alec pipes up, his own phone pressed to his ear. "He  _is_ a petulant child." 

He's ordering pizza, because it was already late-evening by the time he got home, and he learnt as a kid never to let Isabelle in the kitchen unsupervised. After visiting the crime scene, he and Lydia had spoken to neighbouring stores and business, trying to gain an extra perspective on the incident. Then they'd returned to the precinct and worked on sorting out their information into a more compact file, which was - well, it was different, though not necessarily in a bad way. 

Lydia is interesting, and working with her is unsurprisingly different. She's firm and brash and honest, but she works with a speed that Alec finds himself picking up pace to keep up with, and they ended up getting a lot of work done in the space of a few hours. 

Though, he is in a way thankful that they're working on the case separately over the weekend. He's tasked with running over the information, seeing if he can pick up anything suspicious, any tidbit that stands out from the rest, because he, naturally, has a different perspective on the case than Lydia does. 

"Why did you get chosen to work on this case?" Jace asks. He's boring a hole into the coffee table and refusing to look at anyone else. Isabelle is watching him curiously out of the corner of her eye. 

"Is that seriously what this is about?" Alec asks, ending the call. The food should be at their doorstep within fifteen minutes. Apparently, this is the way they're going to fill the waiting time. "The fact that I got assigned to a homicide case and you didn't?" 

Jace sighs. "You and I, we're undoubtedly the best junior detectives in the whole precinct. Cases are supposed to help us gain experience, but instead..." He fades off, his lips pressed together tightly. 

Isabelle shakes her head. "Oh my god, it's not like you're married. Honestly." 

Jace glares at her. Alec frowns, feeling like he's missed something. "I'm sorry, what?" 

"Nothing-" Jace shouts just as Isabelle replies: "Someone's feeling left out." 

Alec shakes his head, assuming it as just harmless teasing - until he sees the stricken look in Jace's eyes that he's trying desperately to disguise. Isabelle shifts proudly in her seat and returns to her phone. 

"Jace?" Alec raises an eyebrow, settling down on the armchair of the couch. "Is that true? Are you - are you feeling left out?" 

Jace shakes his head, flicking blonde strands out of his eyes. He really needs a haircut, he'd let it grow out after they graduated as a sort of rebellion against the strict routine. Alec thinks he's made his point perfectly clear. 

"No, I'm - I'm not feeling  _left out,_  I just..." Jace drags a hand through his shaggy mess of curls. "We're partners, you know? Ever since day one of the academy when we were put together in an exercise, and you tackled a 'perpetrator' without thinking to 'save' me." 

Jace crosses his arms, almost mournfully. "It's weird that you're on a case with someone else, that's all. I always thought we'd do our first major case together, you know?" 

He's actually pouting, which Alec finds kind of heartwarming beneath his urge to laugh. He's twenty-four years old, and he's pouting, because he's not on a case with his best friend. 

"I actually think it's adorable," Isabelle comments, her dark eyes blinking innocently. "How in each other's pockets you have to be." 

"Look, Jace-" Alec cuts in before an argument can erupt between them. "There'll be other cases, alright? Lydia asked for my help with this case because she thinks we can work it together, and well together, and after today I think I'd have to agree with her. Let me just sort out this case, and once it's done I'll talk to Captain Garroway and see if I can find one for us to work." 

"Fine." Jace sighs dramatically. "You can have your case with Lydia, but you'll find out just how boring it is without me, and then the universe will right itself." 

Isabelle's gaze flickers between them like a game of Pong. 

"How did your errands go, Iz?" Alec asks, hoping to leave the conversation in the wind. "Are you all prepared for the gala tomorrow?" 

His sister's face lights up like the early morning rays of sunrise. "The band is sorted, the bar is ready to go, Magnus even had an audition that he's pretty happy with. I've picked up my dress and bought myself a new pair of shoes for the occasion, and the best part of it all is I get to sleep in tomorrow and spend most of the day getting ready." 

She narrows her eyes at Alec teasingly. "You can join me and Magnus at the spa, if you'd like?" 

Alec shakes his head jerkily. "I'd rather not. I have to type up my notes and read over the case files. That's pretty much my whole day gone - but I promise," He adds, before Isabelle can turn daggers on him. "That I will be at the venue on time, and fairly presentable." 

Isabelle leans forward to kiss his cheek. "That's all I'm asking for." She glances at Jace, heat in her eyes. "You, I have a little less trust in, but you won't be allowed in without fitting the dress code, so at best I won't have to deal with you, and at worst, you'll fit in with the rest of the guests." 

"I don't fit in with crowds," Jace flicks his head. "I stand out in them." 

Alec stands up before he can see Isabelle's reaction. "I think I heard the doorbell." He announces, already moving towards the front door. 

There's still a good five-to-ten minutes before the delivery is due to arrive, but he doesn't want to be caught between them. They honestly act like siblings, despite not even being related, or knowing each other for that long. 

Which. Well. He understands Jace's point, it does feel a little weird working on a case with someone else, but he also thinks it's good experience, and an advantage, to be working with someone he hasn't before. Someone he can learn from, someone whose thoughts and actions aren't familiar to him - with Jace, he can practically predict it all. Lydia is the opposite, she's wild in comparison, yet incredibly level-headed and quick to think of conclusions, the next step forward, before Alec does. 

Alec knows that he can learn a lot from Lydia. He just doesn't want Jace to feel like he's being pushed aside - because he's not. 

He's still Alec's best friend. Always will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Lydia Branwell. Let's just preface that, before this story gets any deeper. 
> 
> I promise that our central darlings, Magnus and Alec, will meet soon ... soon-ish. ;) 
> 
> Please, feel free to let me know what you thought, and if you have an inklings about future chapters, don't be afraid to share! I love hearing what people think, and sometimes it can be very inspiring. :) 
> 
>  
> 
> [let's talk about malec](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com/)


	3. Hopeless Romantics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gala night is here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title based on 'Hope Less Romantics' by Make Out Monday
> 
> \- I promise Malec actually meet his chapter. ;)
> 
> \- (just because I have drunk it, doesn't mean I know alot about wine. Fair warning)
> 
> \- is there a phrase for an extortianate amount of flirting? Because that's what this chapter holds.
> 
> this chapter wasn't planned to come out in this month, but as lucky coincidence would have it -- IT'S PRIDE MONTH. A fitting chapter, if I say so myself. My love to you all in this so fabulous of celebratory months.

Magnus doesn't sleep much the night before the gala.

Which is to be expected, it's the biggest thing he's had to host in his entire life, and not only will there be a lot of important people there, it's for a very important cause that's close to his heart, and he wants it all to go swimmingly. Most of his anxiety comes from the chance that it might not pass so easily.

He's thrown parties before, and he humbly believes that he is good at it. He's the kind of host who makes sure that every single person is having a good time, that there is enough to be eaten and sipped, and that no one leaves having less than a fantastic night. And in 90% of cases, that happens. There is the odd scuffle or heated argument ocassionally, but that is to be expected having so many personalities in the one tight space.

However he hasn't exactly thrown a freaking _gala_ before, so he's a tad worried.

Magnus finally drags himself out of bed once the blindingly bright rays of sunlight break through his blinds. He really needs to get black-out curtains or something. Not that he was sleeping anyway, but it's the idea of slumber that counts in his mind.

He skims through the notifications on his phone while he struggles to gather the strength to actually get up. He may not be asleep, but there's something frustratingly hard about having to get out of such a warm and comfortable space and into the cool morning spring air.

He favourites a few tweets, posts his own about how excited he is for the gala later in the day, and heads to his messages. It's barely seven in the morning, and yet already he has three texts.

 

**Isabelle:**

_It is the morning of the big day! How excited are you? As much as I am?_

_-_

_I've emailed you the rough schedule for today. I've booked an appointment at Rose Quartz spa for three this afternoon, during which Lily will be dealing with the venue and related issues. The band will be arriving for soundcheck at five and the doors should be open at seven. Which gives you plenty of time to make yourself look fabulous!_

_Don't stress about today. We've got this. x_

 

**Lily:**

_Don't freak out. And don't lie and tell me you're not, because you are. You'll be fine. Because I represent you, and I refuse to work for idiots. Don't be late._

 

Isabelle's messages are, as always, reassuring and uplifting. A lot like her presence. Lily's is rather straightforward, but comforting - he understands the point she is trying to make, as oddly as it comes across, and it's exactly what he needs to push him in the right direction.

He has a lot to do today, and instead of bothering with mindless worries about what may or may not happen, the best thing he can do is push his irrational fears aside and focus on what he has to do - otherwise something will go wrong and he will be the only one to blame.

He's supposed to be meeting Maia about the liquor menu at nine, which gives him plenty of time to get dressed in his fiercest threads and take on whatever the day throws at him.

But first - coffee.

 

* * *

 

Alec almost wants to laugh at how simple Lydia had made the case sound when she'd first presented it to him.

_'Petty robbery turned homicide'_ ... that's what he thought he was getting into. And at first glance, it certainly seems that way. The victim was found with what appears to be blunt force trauma - still to be clarified - near the counter of Ivan Vasilir's general store, by his son, as Mr Vasilir had been out the back signing for packages of new stock, an alibi they've already verified.

From what has been gathered so far, there's no clear reason as to why the victim was attacked. She's lead a relatively quiet life, no prior criminal record, not even a noise complaint. She's been living in the city for three years, having moved for college when she was eighteen, where she enrolled in Business Studies and Economics.

If there is anything odd to be found, it's that she dropped out of college almost a year ago, despite having fairly stable and good grades. There's no document detailing why she left, just that she did.

Alec makes a note and attatches it to the file, reminding him to discuss it with Lydia when he sees her next. He feels pretty knowledgeable of the facts by this point, having read over them a good few twenty or so times.

But dropping out of college - that's bothering him. Arguably more than how the crime took place, or how the perpetrator managed to get in and out of the store without anyone seeing them - they were disguised, classic black hoodie, face turned away from the camera, no distinguishing features, so the footage doesn't help them with that. He knows he doesn't have all of the information yet, and he's bound to feel restless with all of the holes, but something is drawing him back, again and again, to the victim's departure from her studies.

There has to be a reason, even if he can't find it just yet.

\--

Alec's mid-way through typing up his notes on Ivan Vasilir and expanding on his presumptions and theories, when the door to his apartment swings open. Isabelle stalks in furiously, a begrudging Jace behind her.

She stands in front of Alec, hands on her hips. He finishes his paragraph and then looks up, a little hesitantly.

"Yes?"

Isabelle raises an eyebrow sharply. "I have a lot on my plate, today." She states, which Alec frowns at, because - yeah, he knows she does. "And I don't need anything else."

She glances at Jace, who ducks his gaze sheepishly, before looking back at Alec.

"I have to confirm with the limousine driver so he knows when to turn up, and then I have to consult with the venue decorators because nothing is allowed to go wrong, then there's caterers and security, and _after all that,_ I am going to the spa with Magnus. I do not have the time to deal with you two as well."

She nudges Jace forward with a hand on his shoulder.

"You need to sort out your _shit_ , and now. Talk to each other, spill your feelings, stop beingso damn emotionally constipated and move on. I need to see you with smiles and suits at seven, sharp."

She nods at both of them in turn, and then stalks out of the room again. Jace looks like he's recovering from whiplash, his eyes wide and startled, arms slack at his sides. Alec, less so. He's known Isabelle far longerthan Jace, and isn't surprised in any way by her behaviour.

She's stressed, and this is how she responds to stress. She steps on it in high stilettos and leaves it behind in the dust, because if she doesn't let it catch up to her, it can't affect her. Or so she thinks. Unfortunately for others around her, in pushing aside her stress, she also neglects general societal manners.

Everyone has their flaws.

"What's up?" Jace asks, glancing at the files. Alec thinks it's pretty obvious, but spares Jace the embarrassment.

"Just typing up some notes." Alec saves the document, always important, and moves aside his laptop. "Is something wrong?"

Jace shakes his head. His gaze scatters over the files, erratic and quick. "Just wondering how it's going."

"Jace," Alec pauses, remembering Isabelle's words from the night before. "Are you bothered that I'm on this case? Without you?"

Jace wraps his arms around his torso, but his answer comes across fairly clearly for Alec.

"Hang on," He searches for his phone under a pile of paperwork, and quickly unlocks it.

 

**[TO] BRANWELL:**

_This case seems bigger than we'd thought. Do you mind if I bring in another junior detective to work on it with us? A part-time consultation?_

 

Her reply comes in quickly.

**[FROM] BRANWELL:**

_I agree with you on that. Perhaps we were overestimating our own abilities. Who are you considering?_

 

Alec looks up at Jace, who he knows has been watching him the whole time. "Care to join me?" He asks.

Jace frowns, a dim light sparking in his eyes. "Am I even able to?"

"Lydia doesn't seem to mind, this case is bigger than the two of us - though, she doesn't yet know I'm asking you. Hearing your name might change her mind."

It's a joke - it's not unusual to bring in more detectives as a case reveals it itself, it's how Alec has gotten experience on cases - and it works it's effects the way Alec had been hoping.

"Don't be petty, Alec. Just because Lydia's going to like me more than you once we start working together." His cocky smile softens, letting slip how seriously he takes the offer. "I'd really like that." He admits, and that settles it for Alec.

He texts Lydia, her affirmation coming as quickly as before. It seems her skills bleed into every part of her, her efficiency leading to fast replies and fast connections.

"Welcome to the case," Alec states, before patting a bare patch of the couch.

The files are spread all over the coffee table, where he can get a better vantage point of them. He prefers working here, than on the table, which always feels stiff and awkward. Jace plops down, his eyes already locked on the closest page. The one with Kristen Hall's profile.

Jace grimaces. "That poor woman," He mutters, scanning the file. Alec nods, in as much sympathy as he can manage.

He prefers to keep a relative distance whilst working on a case, because getting attatched can cloud judgement and lead to false assumptions.

It's not easy, but then again, being a detective was never going to be. Alec knew that when he signed up for the academy with the aim to enter that branch of the career, and he's never regretted it.

It's helping people, and avenging deaths in an acceptable way, without inflicting more unecessary violence.

It doesn't help him sleep at night. But it does help him feel like he's doing something good in the world, and in his eyes that's more important.

 

* * *

 

"God, your skin is flawless."

Magnus laughs softly, resisting the urge to touch his own cheek. It's not a compliment he gets that often. "Why, thank you, my dear." He drops his voice until it's low, a conspiratorial whisper. "I mosturise. Daily."

Isabelle's laugh is high and titling like the pitter patter of raindrops on glass. Magnus smiles humbly, proud of his joke - though there was only truth inside of it. He tilts his head up slightly, allowing Isabelle better access to his cheeks. She'd asked to do his makeup, and because he knows just how good she is at it, he agreed. And proceeded to ask to do hers.

It's more fun than he could have imagined, and he can feel his stresses retreating to the further corners of his mind.

Isabelle sweeps shimmering dust across his cheeks and brow, sweeping along his jawline with a firm grace. He wonders, distantly, if this is what sleepovers for girls are like, when they're teenagers and they want to escape to the freedom of friendship and fun. The only sleepovers he's ever had are strictly adult, and enjoyable in a different way.

Though it's an unusual experience, it's not unpleasant.

"You're so much easier to manipulate - and I don't mean that in the negative way," Isabelle states. Magnus just smiles. "When I was younger, I used to practice makeup on my older brother - I've told you about Alec, right?"

"The infamous Alexander Lightwood - yes, I am aware of him." Very aware, in fact.

Isabelle often gushes about her brother, how he's on his way to becoming a fully-fledged detective, how he left the house at eighteen after coming out to a cold reception. How protective and caring he is, kind and stubborn and completely oblivious at most points because he doesn't think to notice the more obvious things.

He sounds charming, for all Magnus has heard. The only problem is that they have, unfortunately, yet to meet.

Isabelle's face lights up at the mere thought of Alec. It's heartwarming to see how close they are. "I thought so. Anyway, I'd convince him to let be my blank canvas, so to speak. He'd grumble about it, but still did it, because I'm his sister and he loves me. However," Isabelle gestures to Magnus widely with the brush in her hand. "It was never as easy as this."

Magnus chuckles softly, as Isabelle returns to the task at hand. "I imagine there is a few reasons for that. One being, I actually enjoy wearing makeup."

Isabelle shrugs, her hand remarkably steady the whole time. "I suppose."

They continue like that, easy banter and swipes of brushes, until Isabelle is satisfied with the end result. She steps aside, watching Magnus as he takes in his reflection.

He's always known the power of makeup, how it can enhance and disguise and transform, but he's never quite seen it on his face like this. Isabelle has done a remarkable job.

His blemishes are covered with light foundation that makes him glow, his cheeks defined by delicate marks of perfectly blended contour, so well that he's sure if he didn't know, he wouldn't think there's makeup there at all. His eyelids are covered in an almost golden, caramel-coloured eyeshadow, that glitters in the light and enhances his eyes in a way that feels natural. His eyeliner is winged, but only slightly, adding effect to the sweep of his dark lashes, his brows sharp lines with softened edges - he tries out a few expressions, amazed at the range it gives him. There's a line of gold on his bottom lid, and it - it _all,_ seperate and combined, feels enchanting.

And perfectly matches his outfit, a soft look that directs attention to his striking, dark suit - which does not surprise him at all.

"Isabelle Lightwood, you beautiful, glamorous, talented gift to this earth!" He exclaims, whipping around with a grin a mile wide. Isabelle is smiling too, though there's a shyness to the edges.

"I take it you like it then?" She says, and although it's brushed off, Magnus can hear the underlying tones of hope.

He pulls her forward with hands on her shoulders and presses a firm kiss to her forehead, hoping his excitement and gratitude is thoroughly expressed. When he steps back, she's grinning, joy radiating off her in waves.

"I love it." Magnus states, nothing but seriousness in his tone. "Thank you, Isabelle. Really."

"It was my pleasure," Isabelle assures him, but Magnus can see just how pleased she is.

"Now, sit." Magnus rushes her with fluttering hands, gesturing to the chair he'd been sitting in. "It's my turn, now, to make you look even more radiant."

"Is that possible?" Isabelle jokes. She's still grinning.

"Honestly, darling, I'm not sure." Magnus winks. "But I can be sure that you will be respectfully drop-dead _gorgeous_ for this gala."

Isabelle settles in to the chair with a relaxed ease. She appears to be calming down from her earlier excitement. "That would make too of us."

 

Yes, Magnus hired Isabelle for her brilliance and her wit and her efficiency. But through that he's gained a friend, and he's more grateful for her than he can express in words.

He'll have to buy her flowers or a necklace or something, once things calm down a bit. Though she deserves far more than that.

 

* * *

 

The doors have been open for five minutes and already Magnus' cheeks hurt.

He's smiled and shook the hands of at least eighty to a hundred people - it at least feels that way - and while he's grateful they've turned up, all of their names and faces have pretty much blended together. Thankfully, Isabelle seems to know who everyone is, and in doubt, he always has her quick memory, and the grace of societal manners.

He exchanges smiles and pleasantries with a few more people, and then his eyes land on someone he definitely knows, and he feels the tension in his shoulders ease.

"You could have dressed up for the ocassion," He brushes imaginary lint off his own blazer, a striking deep blue paired with a black silk top tucked into tight grey pants and black boots with a low block heel. He's styled himself a little less extravagantly than he usually would.

The night isn't, after all, about him.

"This is a new suit, _muchas gracias_. It would be nice if you took the time to notice."

Raphael straightens his blood red tie, his suit an otherwise despairing black. His shoes are shining, his hair slicked back, cufflinks in the shape of roses on his cuffs. Magnus smiles to himself, and steps forward to embrace the slightly shorter man.

"I appreciate it, Raphael. And your being here."

Raphael adjusts his suit, staring at Magnus disdainfully, as though the hug had left him ruffled and covered in mud. "I told you I would. Besides, I heard there was a free bar." Raphael smirks, all sharp upturned edges and glittering eyes.

"Don't forget our agreement," Magnus chastises, teasingly.

Raphael stares. "The agreement that states I only have to talk you up, in exchange for a bottle of 94' Shiraz?" Raphael steps past fluidly. "I have not forgotten."

Magnus shakes his head and returns his gaze to the front. Next to him, styled in an elegant knee-length deep-crimson sleeveless dress that clings to her curves in a flattering way, Isabelle laughs. Magnus had done smokey makeup for her, lipstick a shade darker than her dress, eyes popping between full lashes and charcoal lids. She looks flawless and fierce, and Magnus likes the flicker of intimidation that appears in the eyes of the guests when they shake her hand. It's never more than fleeting, but for a moment it's there, and Magnus is reminded just how lost he'd be without her help.

And thankfully, the guests understand that, because they treat her with the same respect they do him, more, arguably. Everything about her demands it. Magnus may be hosting the event, but Isabelle is clearly running it.

It gets to a point where Magnus is debating whether he's cruel enough to abandon Isabelle in the name of 'checking on the band' or some other such bullshit excuse, because the mundane cycle of people is beginning to tear at his sanity, even with the second glass of champagne he's been sipping - and then salvation walks through the cream French doors and Magnus feels a fresh sense of life flood back into him.

Unfortunately, his saving grace is temporarily overshadowed by an arrogant blonde Captain America wannabe. Magnus forces his smile to stay with him.

"I'm impressed," Isabelle states, stepping forward on her sky-high stilettos.

She holds the blonde at arm's length, scrutinising his outfit with a critical eye. He's wearing a classic, James Bond-esque suit with a hell-below _black tie._ Magnus swallows back a scathing comment about originality and flashes a hard smile.

"Thank you for coming tonight." He says with false pretence. Isabelle glances at him, curiously, but he doesn't break. "We're delighted to see such support."

The blonde nods, hair flicking out of his face. "Of course. I'm Jace. Herondale." The name is familiar, but faintly so.

Magnus stares, unimpressed, though still smiling. He's infuriatingly determined to keep it. "Right. Magnus Bane."

Jace nods, glancing at Isabelle. "I know, Iz has told me a fair bit about you." He says it with an air of fondness. Magnus still can't remember who he is, but he knows that Isabelle has said some things about him in the past.

The blonde - Jace - leans close and mutters something to Isabelle, before stepping past, his eyes on the bar where Maia is shaking up a cocktail.

Magnus has to blink to realign his own core, when his new hope steps forward. Isabelle envelops Tall, Dark and Handsome, their height difference both amusing and heartwarming. Magnus has a fair idea of who this is, but he waits to be introduced - and if he uses the chance he has to check out what he can of the angel before him, well, he's only human.

"Alec!" Isabelle exclaims, confirming Magnus' prior theories. "You look so good! I mean, you're a little late..." She teases. Magnus catches the light flush of colour that creeps up Alec's cheek. It's positively endearing.

"Lydia called me in to interview a colleague - you probably don't want to hear the boring details." Alec shrugs, his broad shoulders shifting within his jacket, the colour of smudged charcoal. He's paired it with a light blue tie that brings out his brilliant cobalt eyes and, if Magnus isn't mistaken, a dark grey vest to match the jacket and pants.

"You scrub up really well, Alec." Isabelle gushes, fixing his tie. Their closeness is palpable, and Magnus encourages his feet to step forward before he's caught out on his creepy staring.

"I must agree," Magnus states, sporting his most charming smile. His eyes track across Alec's _long_ form, quickly yet not subtly. Alec's cheeks flare, and Magnus catches Isabelle's sly glance from the corner of his eye. "You look positively _dashing_."

Alec half-smiles shyly, and Magnus momentarily loses composure. It's so ... innocent. And sweet, in a foreign way. "T-thanks. You look-" Alec swallows. Magnus tries not to feel too self-satisfied, but it's difficult. "Well. Great. You look - really good."

Magnus tilts his head. His cheeks still hurt from smiling, but he doesn't mind as much anymore. Alec is still staring at him, blue eyes glittering like waves.

"Isabelle has told me a lot about you," Magnus admits, his gaze never leaving Alec's. Alec glances at Isabelle, who's smiling proudly, and then back.

"Really?" He asks, voice deep but oddly faint. '"Good things, I hope."

Magnus nods, serenely. "Only the best, I promise."

He wonders what to tell Alec, how much he actually knows or a slimmer version. Mystery is known to be enchanting, after all. And he doesn't want Alec to feel awkward knowing that Magnus is already aware of his job and his favourite colour - an unsurprising black - and the fact that when Isabelle was sixteen he punched her creepy ex-boyfriend because the guy couldn't take a hint and leave her alone despite being told, and quite forcefully, that the relationship was done.

Magnus settles on mystery, because he's feeling the champagne bubbling at the corners of his mind and he always prefers to be as entrancing as possible, certainly in the presence of attractive, reportedly single and _not_ -straight men.

"Iz has told me a bit, about you." Alec admits, bringing Magnus' focus back to the beautiful man before him. "And I've seen a bit of your work. You're really - _really_ good."

He looks almost shy about it - judging by the heat that's still accesorising his cheeks, Magnus selfishly presumes it's not because he thought the work was bad.

"Thank you," Magnus smiles gently. He may play it off, but it does mean a lot to him, knowing that people have watched what he's made, and enjoyed it. "That's very sweet."

Alec has this thing, this beautiful thing, that Magnus is coming to realise. He smiles with his eyes.

"I loathe to break this up - believe me - but Magnus, the band are waiting." Isabelle touches his arm, lightly, reminding him that he does have a job to do.

He turns to Alec, hoping his apology is expressed honestly. "I am sorry, darling, but duty calls, as they say."

Alec nods, blinking a little dazedly like for a moment there he'd been caught somewhere else. "Right, of course. I know what that's like-" He waves an idle hand, that persistent blush still lighting his cheekbones. "Go, do you what you need to. I should probably find Jace anyway, make sure he hasn't got himself into an undesirable circumstance."

Magnus frowns. "Jace?"

A cute little crease appears between Alec's eyebrows. "Yeah - the blonde guy I walked in here with?"

"Right," Magnus doesn't attempt to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Of course. Of _course_. Because he can't have everything pointing in his direction.

Alec's eyes widen, like a startled, skittish deer caught in blinding headlights. "I don't trust him to - knowing him, he'll end up flirting with the bartender and getting a drink thrown in his face."

He gestures towards the bar, where Maia is staring unimpressed at Jace. Judging by his stance, and hers, Magnus has a feeling Alec is right.

"In that case," Magnus sighs dramatically. "We'll just have to continue this later, darling." He throws Alec a wink, watching the spark in his eyes, before he turns around. If he doesn't walk away now, he won't walk away at all.

Isabelle wraps a hand around his arm and grins slyly. She keeps quiet until they're far enough away to be out of earshot.

"Thoughts?" She says softly.

Magnus' lips twist. "I am not going to divulge my thoughts on your handsome brother." He pats her hand gently. "Let's just say, I'm intrigued."

"And enamoured," Isabelle finishes for him, his sentence apparently not a sufficient answer.

Magnus shrugs. "I am but a man, Isabelle."

Isabelle laughs delicately, pulling him along towards the stage where the band are waiting. The band. That Magnus hired for his gala. Because that's going on right now.

It seems Alec has charms of his own. Thought-erasing ones.

 

* * *

 

"This is incredible!"

Simon clutches the neck of his guitar in his hands. They're on a break, have been for the past five minutes, but he hasn't found himself able to let go yet. It's like he needs a tanglible reminder that he's actually gotten this gig.

It's been working out fairly well for him, for the band, so far. They've played a few of their more mature songs, played a bit of instrumental rift, and the guests seem to be enjoying it. Magnus has smiled at them, too, but Simon's also caught him smiling at a tall, dark-haired wallflower who bears a striking resemblance to Isabelle, and talking to other guests, so Simon thinks it's just him being a good host.

Simon is by no means complaining, however.

Sitting at the edge of the bar, Clary watches him with fond exasperation. She's cradling a fruity cocktail in one hand, the other resting on the bar."Having fun, then, Si?"

Simon stares at his best friend like she's grown a second head. "Are you kidding me, C?" He grins widely, all bright eyes and white teeth. "This is, without a doubt, the best gig we have ever played."

Clary takes a sip of her drink, looking at him from over the rim. She's so proud of him, of how far he and he band have come, of how well they're doing tonight. Her dorky best friend has grown up into this brilliant musician, and people are finally recognising his worth.

It's about damn time.

"Everyone seems to be enjoying it," Clary tells him. She's been to _a lot_ of Simon's gigs, for many years, and she's seen a lot of reactions. But she'd caught the subtle smiles, the idle whispers that echoed around her - _Champagne Enema_ are playing to an interested crowd.

"I think it helps," She adds, kindly. "That you're playing songs that fit with the mood of the event."

Simon nods. "That's the plan. We're going to play _'Kiss (The Boy)'_ before Magnus' speech, set the tone a little."

He leans against the bar, his guitar still clenched in his hands, like if he lets go he won't get it back. Clary waves at the bartender, Maia, and grins at Simon. "I think that's a really great choice."

Simon had come out as pansexual in their sophmore year of college, after a party with too many drinks and a 'bi-curious' football player. Clary had laughed when she found out how the incident had happened - not because of Simon's sexuality, but the fact that he figured it out in a cramped closet with a horny 'I-swear-I'm-straight' guy, after one too many shots of what _smelled_ like tequila but burnt like a trail of fire.

It's still a point of embarrassing revenge that Clary doesn't mind bringing up every now and again.

Simon straightens proudly. "I thought so."

Maia slides up to their side of the bar. Her honey-brown curls are bouncing as she moves, silver hoop earrings glinting under the chandelier lights, black bow-tie and vest highlighting her smooth terracotta lipstick. Clary has never seen such a shade before - she's also never really seen lipstick work so well on someone before, either.

Excluding Magnus' assistant, of course, because she's rocking red lipstick like it's the 50's, and looks so stunning that Clary, a generally heterosexual woman, can't look at her for too long before her heart stutters in her chest and heat creeps down her neck like a wildfire.

"What can I get for this evening's hottest frontman?" Maia asks, leaning into the bar.

Simon, if asked, would blame the fact that he just played a five-song set for the warmth haunting his cheeks. "Just a water, please. With ice." He nods at Clary. "I'm the sober driver."

Maia nods, assuming an air of seriousness, though there's a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. " How very responsible of you, Simon."

She prepares his drink, dancing around Bat, a rather tall and broad guy with short brown hair and warm brown eyes and a lined scar on his right cheek. He's very bright, in contrast with his stern appearance, and Simon had been intimidated at first glance until he and Jordan got into a fart-noise contest. It was both ridiculous and utterly hilarious.

Maia slides his drink over, a tall glass of ice water with ... a bright pink crazy straw. She smirks at him, chocolate eyes dancing with mirth. "So you don't feel entirely left out of the festivities."

"Thank you," Simon states solemnly. Maia shakes her head amusedly at him, and then turns to serve another guest.

Simon takes a sip, feeling a little foolish with the straw, though he uses it anyway.

"How awful." A dark voice speaks up from beside him. Simon turns around, finding himself face-to-face with a sharply dressed, ink-haired man with a deep scowl etched into his features.

"Excuse me?" Simon asks. The man glares at him. Perhaps the scowl is a permanent thing, like he made a face and the wind turned and now he's stuck like that forever. Simon's always wondered if things like that actually happen, or if it is, in fact, just a myth.

"That straw?" The man stares pointedly as if the object personally offends him. "It's a horrid colour, for one. Let alone the fact that you are actually drinking from a hot pink tube at such a dignified event."

"I'm sorry that my straw upsets you," Simon snipes. He can feel Clary's hand on his elbow, and he appreciates her presence, but he doesn't necessarily need it. "Which colour would you prefer - blue? Red?" Simon glances at his suit, and adds: "Black, like your soul."

He can hear Clary's airy laughter behind him, muffled - likely by her hand. It fuels his persistence. Sarcasm isn't always his strong point, but it is something he practices in.

"I cannot believe I let Magnus convince me to attend such a disastrous event." The man stares at Simon, firm and unrelenting, though ... Simon must be imagining the glint in his eyes. "The music, for one, is unsuited and frankly drab."

Simon stares back. He's not one to go down without a fight ... well, actually, he is, but this guy doesn't know that. "And what do you bring to this?"

His response is a cold glare. "Representation."

With that, the man stalks off on his heel, sharp and smooth, pushing through people like they're not even there. Simon watches as he goes, feeling like he's been slapped in the face by a hand of ice.

"How do you think he knows Magnus?" Simon mutters, turning back to Clary.

She glances in the direction the snobby man walked off in, and shrugs. "I have no clue. Maybe he's someone Magnus met in the industry."

Simon shuffles in his seat. His skin is prickling with uncomfortableness, like someone's just dumped a bucket of water down his back. He doesn't understand why that guy had such an impact on him, they don't know each other, they've never met before and they probably won't meet again.

He's a stranger in a crowd of unknown faces, but Simon can't brush off the tense feeling clinging to his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

Magnus has felt nerves before, he knows them like an old friend. It's part of his career, and something he's spent years working on how to ease, how to temper and control so that he can perform the way he is needed to.

He has never felt nerves like this, before.

"You'll be great," Isabelle assures him, one hand placed gently on his upper arm.

They're standing off to the side of the stage, talking in hushed whispers as Champagne Enema perform the bridge of _'Kiss (The Boy)'._ Magnus finds the name quite amusing - more so, that is, when he isn't about to deliver a heartwarming and brutally honest speech in front of at least two hundred people he doesn't really know.

"If you can't do this," Lily adds, in the same bored tone she usually speaks in. "Then you've got a slim hope of becoming an internationally renowned actor.

Despite claiming to not be dressing up, she turned up in a sleek midnight blue off-the-shoulder number, with matching heels and a freshly dyed blue streak in her black hair. Magnus had no doubt she'd make an effort, because she's as much a part of the event as he is.

"Hope is fleeting," Magnus mumbles beneath his breath. He's being melodramatic, he knows, but he also thinks he has a fair reason to be. "Alright." He claps his hands together, his rings clinking in his palm. "Let's do this, before I actually lose my nerve."

Isabelle leans forward and kisses his cheek. "Think of the cause." She implores him. "Think of _why_ , not to _who._ "

Magnus nods, dazedly. The band play through the last beats of the song, and then polite applause rises and Magnus' breath catches in his throat. It's crunch time.

"Ladies and gentlemen, all dressed in your finery-" Simon leans into the microphone, capturing the attention of the room. "May I present your host of the evening - the one, the fabulous, _Magnus Bane._ "

Magnus sucks in a deep breath, leaning into the touch of Isabelle's hand on his back, propelling him forward. He can do this. He's an he's speaking from the heart, which he hears is supposed to be fairly easy.

The lights aren't bright enough to disguise his view of the crowd, which is irritating, because he'd prefer not to see the change of expression on people's faces as he pours his heart out.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you all for coming tonight. I cannot express my gratitude clearly enough, nor how much it means to me to see so much support for such an important cause."

He allows himself a faint smile. "It comes as no surprise to anyone that this cause is very dear to my heart. As a teenage orphan, struggling to come to terms with not only my place in the world, but my own identity, my own person, I didn't have the support that I needed. I had to figure everything out on my own, and let me just say, it was not a breezy road trip."

His eyes scan across the crowd, landing on Raphael. He's standing towards the back, arms folded over his chest, but he's listening intently, that much Magnus is sure of.

"There are a lot of things kids need to work out. That's why teenage years are seen as both blessings and utter curses. Once you escape them, hopefully, you've got at least a weak grasp of who you are, and what you want to do in life. During them, your entire hold on life is thrown in the air, your previously stable understanding tilted until you're hanging upside down, clutching to what you do know with determined fists."

Raphael smirks, and Magnus knows he remembers the underlying anecdote he's not letting slip.

"John Caleo's Refuge for Queer Youth is a beautiful foundation aimed at providing support centers for LGBT+ youth, a place they can call home. Somewhere they can feel safe inside of their own skin, happy with who they are, who they're meant to be. Who they've always been."

Magnus glances around, Raphael's stare too heavy and honest.

"I haven't always felt comfortable, the way I do know, with who I am." He finds his his gaze drawn to Alec, standing off to the side, next to Jace. He's listening intently, a soft smile on his face, is body almost leaning in as though he has to get closer. When he notices Magnus' eyes on his, the smile grows. It's honest and beautiful and encouraging.

Magnus takes a deep breath, and continues.

"I only wish I could have had the same support. Which is why this night is so important, to more than just me. There are kids out there, who's parents threaten to disown them for being themselves." Magnus catches Alec's heavy swallow, the way his eyes duck down momentarily. They're back on his by the time he speaks again.

"If I can help one kid feel good about who they are, if I can help one kid feel safe and cared for and _special_ , in this dark, hateful world we live in." Magnus is aware he's only speaking to Alec, but he can't draw his eyes away. "Then I count myself lucky."

Alec's blue eyes are magical. Magnus feels like he's made of air. "None of this could happen without John Caleo's Refuge for Queer Youth. All proceeds from tonight's entry tickets, bar prices and any added donations will _all_ be given over to the foundation. This is an entirely, clear-cut non-for-profit event, because I refuse to take money that can be better spent somewhere else. Your support, though not entirely priceless-" A titter of humble laughter spreads around the room. "Is greatly appreciated. Thank you."

He takes a bow, using the moment to suck air back into his desperately deprived lungs. The sound of roaring applause floods his peripheral, and when he stands up, there is not a space of the room where hands are not clapping, where faces aren't stretched in proud and supporting smiles.

Magnus feels dizzy, his legs wobbly at the surprise wrapping around him. He smiles without thought, achingly wide, and nods weakly. It is only once the applause has begun to die down, that he gains the clarity of mind to actually walk of the stage.

Isabelle is grinning as widely as him, and as soon as he's stepped onto even ground she's trapping him in a tight hug, her hands digging into his ribs. Not one inch of him minds.

"Oh, Magnus, you were incredible!" Isabelle exclaims, her voice astoundingly loud in his ears. There's still a faint rumble of applause. Magnus is sure he's about to faint.

"Did that just happen?" He asks, his voice weak to his own ears.

Isabelle nods enthusiastically. She pulls back, her hands moving to rest on his elbows. "I am so proud of you Magnus, that was beautiful. You were enthralling, up there. Everyone was hanging onto your every word."

Lily steps up beside him, slinking out of the shadows like a cursed black cat. "Nice job, Bane. I had no doubt - but you still managed to impress me."

She smiles, in her own way, where the corners of her mouth lift up slightly, and her eyes gain a brighter sparkle, and pats his arm. It's more than Magnus honestly expected from her.

Isabelle hugs him one last time, and then disappears, off to talk to someone important probably. She's incredibly skilled at networking, a charming talker, far better than he is, and at the moment, a lot more composed.

Simon darts past, gushing about his speech and thanking him for the incredible opportunity - a lot of his words run together, but Magnus thinks he manages to catch the main gist of it all.

He makes his way through the crowd, thanking people for their kind words of support and encouragement, and when people alert him to it, their donations. It seems his speech was pretty well recieved all around, and that humbles him, because it means that his words actually had an impact on them. Which is what he wanted all along, none of this night is for him, and the praises just mean that he's done something worth doing.

He feels drained and exhausted and he can't help but think it's entirely worth it.

Or, more than worth it.

Magnus isn't immune to touch, and over the night, he's felt it a lot. But there's something firm about the hand on his shoulder, that encourages him to turn around.

He's very glad he does.

Alec is standing there, hand still partially raised. He's shucked his jacket at some point - now that Magnus thinks about it, he vaguely remembers seeing Isabelle with a suit jacket over her shoulders ... dear God can this man be any cuter?

Point remaining, having devoid himself off his jacket, Alec is left in his grey vest, which makes it very hard for Magnus to concentrate on anything but the way the article of clothing hints at what's beneath.

(He is _only_ human, after all.)

"Alexander," He greets, taking a chance on Alec's eyes, which are just as captivating as the rest of him. "I haven't yet had a chance to catch back up with you, which is truly a downright shame - I do _loathe_ to break promises."

A myriad of expressions flicker across Alec's face. He quickly lands on gentle surprise, which Magnus takes as a positive thing.

"Your speech-" He rubs at his jaw, which pulls at Magnus' concentration. "It was beautiful, Magnus. Your words were, well, they were enthralling. I, uh, I couldn't look away."

Magnus finds himself standing up straighter. "Thank you very much." He's very aware of everything, the way he's standing, what he's wearing, the close proximity between Alec and himself. It's ... different. In the best way.

Alec reaches for the back of his neck and rubs the nape. "You're incredible. With this event, of course, you've pulled off something amazing, but also with your career."

Alec smiles shyly. "I think it's really admirable, how you choose your roles. Especially in the industry you're in, I mean - I can't imagine how hard it is, sticking to the values that you do. And I think - sorry, scratch that. I know that you deserve to be told how remarkable it is."

Magnus stares, stunned. There's a difference between the praise that has been expressed in passing, and the clear and open honesty that is exuding from Alec's every word, every breath. He doesn't find it as hard to believe Alec, to believe that everything he's saying is entirely genuine.

"I'm sorry," Alec rubs a hand over his mouth, shaking his head apologetically. "I'm probably boring you-"

He twists, prepared to turn away, but something pulls at Magnus' core and in a flash of movement that not even he sees coming, he reaches for Alec's wrist. He can feel Alec's pulse through his finger, the way it quickens as Alec turns around.

"Would you like to go for coffee, sometime?" Magnus asks. He can't stand the idea of Alec walking away without giving himself a chance to see if there is something to what he feels. "Your sister has told me what you do for a living, and I understand that you're probably busy, but quite frankly Alexander, I think you're very handsome and I'd like to get to know you better, though I am definitely interested in what I have already seen."

Alec stares at Magnus' bejewelled fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, and then quickly drags his eyes back up. He blinks, slowly, and then a shy happiness leaks into his mouth, his lips smiling around his words.

"I am, busy that is, but - coffee sounds great."

Magnus lets go of Alec's hand, only then realising he'd still held it, and taps his suit pocket - it quickly comes to his attention that he'd given his phone to Isabelle before he'd walked on stage, preferring to be free of distractions.

"Do you have your phone on you?" Magnus asks, sheepishly. "I am currently without mine."

"Yeah," Alec swiftly pulls out a small, rather outdated smartphone. Magnus stares at the phone, wondering just how little Alec gets paid if that is his current phone. Alec presses the home button, and then startles. Magnus just watches in patient confusion.

"Crap," Alec mutters beneath his breath, putting the phone back into his pocket. He looks frantic for a moment, patting his pants and his jacket, until he lets out a low gasp of discovery, and then all of a sudden he's holding another larger, shinier, newer phone.

He unlocks it, glancing at Magnus with a sheepish apology. "That's my work phone." He explains. "It wouldn't be the best idea for me to enter your number into that one."

Magnus nods, in understanding. He's never needed a work phone, as Isabelle takes care of it before he can even think of who he should be calling, or who is supposed to be calling him. She organises him better than he could ever organise himself.

If he gets this new role, he's giving her a raise.

"Here," Alec says, handing his phone over.

Their fingers brush, warm and hesitant. Alec clears his throat, trying to look at anything but Magnus, it seems. Magnus elects to feel charmed by it, which isn't hard considering that is the general effect Alec seems to have on him.

He quickly inserts his number into the phone, adding his contact as 'Magnus' with a sparkly pink heart - his decision not entirely made on a whim. When he hands Alec back his phone, he deliberately makes sure that their fingers touch, so that no doubt can be founded. Heat reddens Alec's ears, and his voice is tight when he thanks Magnus.

Magnus hears someone distantly call his name, and he mournfully remembers that he can't just spend an hour talking to Alec, despite how much he desperately wants to.

He sighs, deeply, and a little over-exaggeratedly. Alec huffs out a laugh, and Magnus is pleased to see that the reaction, the fact that he even can make Alec laugh. God, he's spent barely an hour in the man's presence and already his heart is fluttering with the tendencies of a teenager.

"Now, because you are the one who has _my_ number, I sincerely hope that you will call." Magnus winks, a little flirtatiously. It's well-received.

"I will." Alec promises. He shifts, and then leans in, placing a soft kiss on Magnus' cheek. He looks nervous when he pulls back, but Magnus is grinning like it's Christmas and he's received a new Burberry coat.

"I'll be waiting." Magnus says, before reluctantly walking off, knowing that if he doesn't, nothing will get done.

Alec Lightwood is an enigma. And Magnus plans on discovering all there is to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there are a lot of fantastic people as part of America's LGBTQ+ history, but there isn't much out there about Australia's past, and as a mostly proud Australian, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to shed some light.
> 
> John Caleo was a real person, who passed away in 1992 due to the effects of the horrible and devastating AIDS epidemic in Australia around that period. His husband - though not legally recognised as such - Timothy Conigrave wrote a 'much loved and hugely successful' memoir and stage play, 'Holding The Man'. As per the film of the same name, Conigrave's memoir was the "warm, funny and achingly sad story of the 15 year love affair between {Conigrave and Caleo} ... their relationship blossomed and endured in the face of prejudice, adversity and the cruel illness that devastated the gay community in the 1980s ... the great Australian love story that will be remembered for decades to come."
> 
> The film, and their story, impacted me more than I could have expected, and I have not ever watched it without crying. I couldn't pass up an opportunity to mention this beautiful couple, as their story deserves to be remembered - perhaps one day, it will become legal for couples like John and Timothy to marry in my country.
> 
> You can watch the trailer [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2YdJUorviNA&t=1s) (it's a little explicit...)
> 
> hit up [my tumblr](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com) or my [fandom side-blog](http://drugs-and-candy.tumblr.com) to talk to me - about malec and shadowhunters (that last ep though guys...) 
> 
> Next chapter should be up in a few weeks: not to shamelessly promote myself or anything, but I have a [new fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11034750) out that I'm really proud of, if you feel like checking that out in the meantime, I'd really appreciate it. 
> 
> Otherwise, I will see you guys for 'Fools Who Dream' <3


	4. Fools Who Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Lydia continue work on their case, and Simon meets his new band manager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride Month!! 
> 
>  
> 
> title from 'Audition (The Fools Who Dream)' from La La Land.

_"I'll be waiting."_

Those are the last words Magnus had said to Alec, before he walked off to meet other people and Alec had to leave, knowing that he had a lot of work waiting for him at home, and even more, that if he stayed he wouldn't get any work done at all.

The same words that have haunted Alec ever since he stepped out of the building.

It's now eight am the next day, and he hasn't been able to get Magnus out of his head. The man is just, he's naturally graceful and handsome and he cares so deeply - his speech was beautiful - and every word he speaks is just enchanting, Alec found himself left hanging on to every syllable. He's breathless at the mere thought of the actor, and that's really not helpful.

Alec does have a lot to do today, he was lucky to get the break he did the night before, and he doesn't have the luxury of wasting his time thinking about how damn breathtaking Magnus looked on the stage, lit up beneath soft lights with heartwarming passion exuding from every part of him.

He has a freaking murder investigation he's currently involved with, and yet all his mind can center on is a good-looking guy he met barely twelve hours ago, whose number is burning in his phone, whose words are ringing in his ears like an echo.

He _seriously_ has to get a grip.

 

* * *

 

 

He meets Lydia at the front of the apartment building for Kristen Hall.

Jace is technically only aiding with the case, so his task for the day is running over what they've already compiled. He's there to give an extra hand and a fresh eye if they need it - Captain Garroway had allowed him to join the case on the provision that he's still able to work on other cases.

He seems perfectly happy with the guidelines, and that surprises Alec a little, because he'd expected Jace to have more of a problem. Apparently just being involved with the case is enough.

"Hey, Lightwood." Lydia greets, as soon as she spots him.

She's standing next to a lampost, blackout sunglasses hiding her eyes from the harsh rays of the sun. In her grey-blue pantsuit, tight high ponytail and firm posture, she looks like a detective, someone to be intimidated by. An actual force of the law, as opposed to Alec, who looks awkward and bulky in a full suit, like he's playing dress-up.

"Hey, Branwell." Alec greets, pulling off his own sunglasses. His are less for effect and more for stable practicallity. He's not cool. The sun is just too bright. "Any news?"

Lydia looks skyward, and then back at him. "Nothing, unless you count our current war with the company who install the security cameras - and who currently refuse to give the footage over until we have a court-approved warrant."

Alec stares at her, sunglasses held loosely in his hand. "Seriously?"

Lydia nods, her lips pressed together firmly in distaste. "Completely."

"So, what?" Alec frowns. "A simple request isn't good enough?"

"Apparently, not." Lydia sighs. "We're still where we were yesterday."

Alec folds his sunglasses and tucks them into the inside pocket of his jacket. "So, basically - nowhere."

"Pretty much."

Lydia jerks her head towards the building. "Kristen Hall's roommate, Elesia Cartwright, is waiting for us. The police have interrogated her, but only so far as to prove her innocence."

"And it has been proved?" Alec asks, following her into the building. "Her alibi seemed a bit weak." The only thing she could back her innocence with, last he checked, was that she had a class.

"Her lecturer confirmed her presence, as did the security footage of the school - who were perfectly willing to lend it over - and a handful of other students, whose statements we have on file. There's an updated folder on your desk."

"Uh, thanks?" Alec hasn't been in to the precinct yet, he'd left his apartment and come straight here. Not that he's all that surprised by Lydia's confession.

"You're welcome. I had to update Captain Garroway anyway, so I thought I might as well kill two birds with one stone, as the phrase goes."

Alec steps forward, holding open the door for her. Lydia stares at him, half amused and half incredulous, daring even. He rolls his eyes without thinking of the gesture.

"It's only because I'm tall." He explains. "Not because I'm an outdated male." He pauses, wondering if he dares - and then decides that there's no point keeping a part of himself that is both a big part of him and not that important, from someone that he is working with.

That, and from what he knows of Lydia already, keeping secrets from her is just plain pointless.

"Besides that," He adds. "I'm not trying to show off or impress you or anything - not in that way. I'm gay."

He represses a cringe at his own awkwardness, knowing it won't help him. Lydia's still staring, but then her lips slowly pull into a surprised but content smile, like she hadn't expected his words but admires them anyway.

"Nice to know." He can feel the impression of her steel blue eyes boring deeply into his own, even with sunglasses hiding them from view, but he doesn't feel intimidated. It doesn't feel like she's inspecting him, more that she's searching for something.

Whatever she's looking for, she seems to find it, or something else that satisfies her curiosity. She brushes past him smoothly, waltzing into the building with all of the firm composure Alec is looking to regain.

"I'm not straight, either." She admits, after the door has shut and Alec has joined her. "In case you feel like a minority. You're not. At least between the two of us."

Alec glances at her, and then he lets out a soft huff of laughter. She shares a secret, conspiratorial smirk with him, and then she's distant and all business. He does wonder how she manages to flick a switch between emotions and expressions so quickly.

She flashes her badge at the receptionist, and then heads straight towards the elevator. Alec follows her, his long legs allowing him to keep pace with her. She's remarkably fast when she wants to be, which seems to be always.

"Elesia Cartwright is one of the last people to see Kristen Hall alive," Alec ducks into the elevator as Lydia presses the button for the fourth floor. "How come we're only talking to her as a witness now?"

Lydia slides her sunglasses up to the top of her head. "She's been hesitant to talk. Apparently the police who interrogated her first weren't very ... kind about it."

Her eyes flash with restrained frustration, and Alec reads the subtle underlying threads. "Thankfully, she's agreed to talk to us. I discussed it with her this morning, and while she sounds hesitant, she wants to help."

Alec nods, eyes scanning the chrome silver interior of the elevator. It's not a shabby building, but not a five-star hotel either. Somewhere in the middle, glamorous on an affordable level, and certainly a place where people should be able to feel comfortable.

"This must be incredibly hard on her," Alec states, rolling his shoulders back. "Living in the apartment without her friend."

A wave of cold spreads out from the center of his chest, forming like a icy snowflake. He grits his teeth and clamps down on his invading past before it can slip out. Now is not the time.

By some grace of the universe, or some lucky coincidence, Lydia doesn't seem to notice his momentary lapse in composure.

"I can't imagine what it would be like." Lydia admits, looking at Alec through the reflection of the elevator doors. "She sounded strong on the phone, though."

Alec watches the lights slide up. "Hopefully she'll have something that can help us."

Elevators are funny machines. Alec isn't that big of a fan - mainly because of the churning jostle to his stomach and the abrupt shift when the intended floor is reached. And they're not stable, they're metal boxes hanging from steel wires that can, realistically, snap at any moment. He understands their purpose, and the speed is a certain positive factor, but he'd often rather take stairs if the situation arises.

The jolt comes, and Alec is only a little annoyed to find that Lydia remains stable and unaffected. The doors slide open and she steps out, heeled boots clipping over the threshold. Alec swallows briskly and follows, his stomach tight as he walks on solid ground.

He really doesn't like elevators.

Elesia Cartwright lives in 4C, the second door on the left of a cream and brown hallway. It's a very unassuming path, a normal door, and the girl who opens it is no one unexpected. Alec's frustratedly still mulling over the motive for murdering Kristen Hall. It feels like the harder he looks, for anything, the less he's able to find. She lived a normal life, lived in a normal place with a normal friend. There is nothing shady or deceptive about her and no reason for someone to kill her.

Perhaps it is just a robbery turned wrong, and Alec is just looking into it too much. But between the sense he'd gotten at the scene and the niggling, unsettled feeling in the back of his mind - he doubts that's all there is. There's something else to the case, he just doesn't have enough information as to what it is, yet.

"Elesia Cartwright?" Lydia asks, softly, her hands clasped together.

The girl, Elesia, nods curtly. She's rather petit, maybe 5"4, curled hazel hair cut to her shoulders, round green eyes behind toirtose shell glasses and a thin-lipped smile. She's in simple jeans and a sweater, indicating that she's fairly comfortable with the situation, but still careful about what impression she makes.

Alec knows her alibi has been checked out, and he doesn't have enough experience to really make any assumptions, but he doubts that she's guilty. A brazen attack in a public setting doesn't fit with the generally soft and timid woman before him.

"I'm Detective Branwell, we spoke on the phone." Lydia gestures loosely to Alec, who offers Elesia a polite smile. "This is Detective Lightwood. I can assure you, we're only here to talk."

Elesia nods, again, her curls shifting with the movement. "Ask whatever you need to." Her face tightens, but she swallows and moves past it. "I want - I want to help. In any way I can."

Alec's heart pulls for her, but he makes sure his expression remains professionally distant. Nevertheless, he's not heartless. "Your information will, no doubt, be of great help."

Elesia looks up at him, their difference in height fairly distant. She breathes in deeply, almost steeling herself, and then steps back, pushing the door wide enough for them to walk in.

Lydia takes the lead, as Alec thinks she always will, and follows Elesia into the apartment. It's the standard for a student's apartment, one large open lounge space connected to the small kitchen, a short hallway off to the right with adjoining doors. There's a cluster of flowers and plush toys gathered in front of one of the doors, and a large white sign with small writing indiscernible from this distance. Alec breathes in shakily and tears his attention away before he can lose his carefully constructed wall.

"Would you, uh, would you like anything?" Elesia asks, leading them into the lounge area. "A drink, or-"

"No, thank you." Lydia smiles carefully. "Just, direct us to a seat where you feel comfortable."

They convene on the couch, Alec and Lydia to one side, Elesia to the other. Lydia keeps her stance rigid, but her face is gentle and open. Alec keeps his formal posture, if only because the couch is unfairly small in comparison to his tall frame and slouching would make him look like he's unfazed, not attentive and concerned the way he really is.

"Miss Cartwright, we understand this is a very difficult time for you, and may we first express our deepest condolences." Lydia clasps her hands together slowly.

Elesia blinks back threatening tears, her face paling. She raises a tremoring hand, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly, her breathing slow and uneven. Alec quietly pulls his notepad out, flipping it open to a new page. He may not necessarily understand the utter, devastating grief that she is going through. But he can empathise, and he's not cruel. She's a witness, not a suspect, after all.

"I can't believe she's gone." Elesia whispers, her voice strained. "Just last week we were making plans to go to - to, this music festival, this small indie music festival on Long Island that she found out through her brother-" Her expression tightens painfully, and she sighs haggardly.

"We can come back again, another time." Lydia suggests. Alec knows that she really doesn't want to, that they need this information to help build up their case, but he also understands that it is both cruel and unfair to force someone to speak when it's so clear they can't.

"No, no." Elesia shakes her head. She pulls her glasses off and drags taut hands over her tear-striken face. Lydia pulls a travel-tissue-pack out of some pocket, and hands it over. Elesia smiles gratefully, and takes the packet, rubbing her eyes until they're dry, albeit red.

"I want to help, I do, and I know it's going to be difficult to talk about," Elesia's green eyes shine, striking without the glass in front of them. There's a fierce determination swimming between the clear pain and grief, a steel resolve that will push her through the questioning.

"I owe it to her."

 

* * *

 

Simon finds the note tacked to the coffee machine - Clary's familiar looped scrawl on a pastel green sticky note.

 

_Today's the day! Best of luck, Si, not that you'll need it. Your time has come and now you will evolve like a Pokemon to become New York's next best nerdy frontman. Love, C. xx_

He smiles and folds the note, sticking it in the back pocket of his jeans. He needs all the support he can get today. He may play a cool cucumber but he's terrified; today is the day he and his fellow band members meet with their new manager, and to say he's apprehensive would be like saying he only _kind_ of likes Star Wars.

A complete understatement.

Of course the other band members will, obviously, be there, and he can always lean on them for help if he needs it. But he's known Clary for, like, ever, and she's always been the one he turns to, when he needs anything.

This is, arguably, the biggest day of his life so far. And knowing that he has his best friend behind him is currently one of the only things keeping him sane.

 

\--

 

Raphael strides through the pristine glass doors of Dumort Records with the calculated grace of a man who knows where he stands.

He greets the receptionist with a curt nod. "Anna,"

She isn't the one he has a problem with, she didn't abandon him, but seeing her is a reminder of his most recent betrayal. However, he does have a careful reputation here, and losing that would make the years he's worked here practically null-and-void.

Anna looks composed, but there's a flash of something undecipherable in her eyes. "Raphael. Hello." She turns to her computer, tapping away with skilled fingers. "You have an appointment with the band Champagne Enema at 9:45."

Raphael frowns, his eyebrow's furrowing in confusion. "I'm sorry. I have an appointment?"

Anna nods slowly. "That's what the schedule says."

"With a band called _Champagne Enema_?" Raphael asks slowly.

A spark of amusment flickers in Anna's eyes. "That's what the schedule says." She repeats, her tone lighter, as though she thinks she understands Raphael's pain.

"So, let me get this straight," Raphael places his palms flat on the reception counter. "The band I supported and helped achieve popularity, abandons me - which I learn of thanks to a voicemail, mind you - and now I come back to work to find I have been assigned to a new band that _no one_ has ever heard of?"

Contrary to his statement, he knows that someone must have heard of the band or they wouldn't be here, signed to him. The name does ring a bell in the far regions of his mind, but it's not clear enough to hint that they'd made an impression on him, so they mustn't be that good.

Not that it really matters now, he's already been signed to them. Sure, they haven't entered a contract yet, but if he refuses he'll probably get fired, and he's put too much time and effort into this company to get _fired._ He'd leave, but then he'd have no job, and he quite likes having a steady income.

Anna's forehead creases, but she doesn't look as intimidated as Raphael would prefer. If only to make himself feel a little better.

"I am sorry, Raphael, but that's all I know. I don't have control over these things."

Raphael groans, but pulls back. Obviously talking to Anna is getting him nowhere. He supposes that if he gives the band a chance - like, a day - he can complain to the higher-ups and be more likely to get what he wants. Because then he can claim that he has given the band a chance and they just didn't work out.

"Please alert me before you send them in," He requests. "I'll need a minute to ... prepare myself." He ends his sentence on a grimace, one that Anna seems to find funny.

Apparently this is all just a joke to her. Not an actual part of his life, and more than that, his career.

"I will make sure that happens." Anna assures him. "You're set to meet them in Conference Room B."

Raphael shakes his head. "Of course I am."

His band abandon him and then everything else goes to hell in a handbasket along with them.

 

* * *

 

Due to an incident with a stray shoelace, Simon is the last to enter the conference room. As such, he doesn't see their new band manager until he's already in the room, and by that point, there's no space for escape. He has no choice but to follow the lead of the others and sit down at the ridiculously long table.

Their new band manager, the one who will help them on their path to glory and success - is the same snarky, rude ass from the gala the other night. Simon doesn't know his name, but he does know that he's an absolute jerk.

Neither Maureen nor Jordan seem to notice, which leaves Simon wallowing in his own distress.

"Unfortunately, it seems I have been attached to you without my consent." A shiver races down Simon's spine at the somehow familiar dark tone. "And as I'd prefer not to be fired, we're stuck together for the forseeable future."

His eyes scan around the room, and when they fall on Simon, they end up locked in a strangely heated gaze. Simon swallows, his mouth surprisingly dry.

"I've already been briefed on your names, but by the stunned looks on your faces, you haven't been briefed with mine." The gaze breaks, and Simon exhales. "I am Raphael Santiago, and I can be either your best asset or your worst enemy depending on how you treat this relationship."

Beside him, Maureen gulps. On her right, Jordan's eyes narrow - he's the more protective one of their little trio, quiet and unassuming until he needs to step up. He's always been like that; back in their senior year of high school he took a whole day of school to stand in front of a tree that was supposed to be taken down. Eventually, the tree was listed as protected under the council's rule because of how old it was, but Jordan hadn't moved for anyone.

His goodness is admirable, when it isn't annoying. (Simon still hasn't gotten over the time Jordan vetoed a song because he thought that the lyrics might offend corporate tycoons.)

"First of all," Raphael sighs. "Your band name. Why?"

He's not even sitting, he's just standing behind a chair, arms folded over his suit because he obviously thinks that he is better than anyone else. Which is fine, because Simon knows exactly how to handle people like him.

"We could revert back to Rock Solid Panda if you'd really like." Simon shrugs. "Personally, I think the name we've chosen is a far more elegant and sophisticated one."

Raphael stares at him, and Simon just grins, challenging him to dare. The tension in the room rises like a hot air balloon, but Simon barely blinks in response.

"Fine. I'll accept the name, if only because it will save me the headache." Raphael leans his elbows on the back of the chair. "But for the love of God, we'll need to work on the music."

"What's wrong with the music?" Maureen squeaks.

Raphael stares at her sharply. "Apart from the fact that it's utterly drab and quite honestly sounds like you're trying too hard?" He sighs again - that seems to be his default setting. "You need to figure out what your sound is, what it actually is, what you want it to really be. It should be effortless, it should be exciting, every single note should be captivating."

His eyes flicker to Simon's. His voice is softer when he speaks, though it still carries an edge to it. "You shouldn't have to try. At all. If he doesn't come naturally, then it means you're trying too hard. And therein lies the problem with your band."

At first, Simon's annoyed. How dare he, how dare he just come in here and start criticising their band like he knows anything about them? And then he sits back, pushed there by some unseen force, or possibly by Raphael's firm stare, and mulls over his words.

Maybe, just maybe he has a point. Maybe they are trying too hard. Maybe that's why they've never been able to make a name stick, because they've been trying to figure out their sound and the name that fits with it.

"Okay, then." He says, glancing at Maureen and Jordan. They seem as lost as he is, so he takes the lead. After all, that's what a frontman does. "What is Champagne Enema's sound?"

Raphael doesn't break eye contact. "I don't know. That's what you have to tell me. I can help you with the sound, but only after you've discovered it."

Simon sighs, because of course he can't give them a straight answer. Working with Raphael is truly going to be a test of patience.

 

* * *

 

Simon trudges home at around seven, guitar slung over his back. They'd worked with Raphael for _six hours_ trying to find their _sound._ They hadn't succeeded, unless consistently irritating Raphael and leading him to actually cover his face with his hands at least ten times an hour counts as success.

His fingertips ache, his throat is sore and he's pretty sure that he's strained the muscles in his right wrist.

But, you know, their first day working with an actual band manager, so better than past band experiences. Or so Simon keeps trying to convince himself.

He dumps his guitar - gently - by the door, slips off his Converse and then continues his sulking walk towards the couch, where he kind of half-falls, half-crashes onto the cushions in despair.

"Hey, Si."

Clary rubs his shoulder soothingly. Simon isn't even surprised by her presence.

"What was it, my muffled groans or the palpable sense of my impending doom?"

He hears Clary's light huffs of laughter. "Your melodramatic aura, actually."

Simon rolls over onto his back, one arm falling off the couch. He doesn't have the energy to lift it up, he just lets it hang there, a figuratively detatched limb. Clary tuts sympathetically, and sits down on the floor, folding her legs with an enviable grace. She's never been as much of a dork as Simon is. She's always been more put-together than him.

"What happened?" Clary asks.

"We met with the band manager today." Simon closes his eyes, even just the memory is exhausting. "You remember the guy from Magnus' gala, the one who criticised our music and made fun of my pink straw?"

"Yes?"

Simon can practically see Clary's raised eyebrow. "It's him."

There's an aching silence for a second, during which Simon still refuses to open his eyes.

"The guy from the gala is your new band manager?" Clary echoes,to be sure. Simon understands the feeling. He's had to pinch himself at least three times today to convince himself that he's not dreaming.

"Yup." Simon makes sure to pop the word.

"Aw, Si." Clary slides her hand into his, and squeezes comfortingly. Past-Simon would be having a heart attack right now. "I'm sorry."

Simon wonders, if he'll be able to keep the rest of the world at bay so long as he doesn't open his eyes. "It's not that he's a bad manager. He's really good, which is just even more infuriating, because we can't exactly fire him, let alone after the first day."

Clary strokes a circle with her thumb. "What did he do?"

Simon loves how she understands what he means without him having to say it. "He wants us to find our 'sound'."

"I thought you already had a sound?"

"So did we." Simon opens his eyes, rolling his head to look at Clary. "He said that if it doesn't feel natural, then it means we're trying too hard." He sighs, raggedly. "The worst part is that I think he's right. That's why we change our name so much, because we're trying to find our, our..."

"Your niche?" Clary fills in.

"Exactly!" Simon stares at her imploringly. "See, you get it."

Clary hums, her thumb still stroking his hand. "What are you going to do?"

Simon shrugs awkwardly, the position on the couch not giving him much room. "I don't know. Probably just wallow in my own self-pity for a few hours and then get some fitful sleep before it all starts over again tomorrow."

Clary smiles, her strikingly kind green eyes catching every emotional quirk he's expressing. "Do you want to eat Thai and watch Return Of The Jedi whilst you wallow?"

Simon makes a half-hearted noise, but still pulls himself up so that he's sitting in a more appropriate position. "I guess that sounds okay."

Clary grins, and pecks his cheek before standing up. "You'll get through this, Simon. Even if your band manager _is_ a bit of a jerk, it's still an opportunity of a lifetime. You're finally getting to live your dream."

Simon smiles back, because it's kind of hard not to when one has a friend as awesome as Clary Fray. "I love you, C."

"I know."

 

* * *

 

Magnus is busy eating lunch, perched in the corner of Lily's office, when his phone buzzes on the table in front of him.

It's a small round coffe table, put together with two equally small and stylish chairs to tie together the semblance of sophistication within the office. That, and it's a very large space for only a desk and some chairs. Magnus had been the one to suggest that she put a table there, if not for her than for his own benefit, because he hates eating alone.

Isabelle's out on errands, so Magnus has to pause with a forkful of lettuce to his mouth, to swipe his phone and answer the call.

"You've reached the magnificent Magnus Bane, what can I do for you?"

_"Hello, Magnus, this is Annabel Fletcher from 'A Question of Luck & Fortune'. You auditioned for us the other day?"_

Now Magnus is starting to wish that he'd looked at the number before he'd answered. He probably wouldn't have recognised it, but it's the thought that counts. He waves to catch Lily's attention, then points to the phone.

"Annabel, hi. How are you?"

Lily raises a perfect eyebrow. Magnus mouths 'producer', hoping that she'll get the hint.

_"I'm doing well, thank you. Let's talk about you - would you be interested in coming back for a second audition? We'd like to see what your chemistry is like with other prospective actors."_

Magnus feels his jaw slacken. Lily's staring at him, but he's not composed enough to explain to her and respond to Annabel. "I would love to come back."

_"Excellent. I have to consult with the director, but we'll contact you with a date and time, sometime over the next few days."_

"That sounds perfect. Thank you very much."

They exchange pleasant goodbyes, and then Magnus just sits there with his phone slack in his hand, fork in the other. Oh, his lunch. He hasn't actually finished that yet.

"If that wasn't a callback I will throw a stapler into the wall." Lily states, grinning sharply. It's a testament to their working relationship that Magnus understands when she isn't being serious.

"That was a producer from that movie I auditioned for last week, the part was a youth worker-"

"I am aware, Magnus, I did find the audition for you." Lily reminds him. She leans forward, her hands steepled under her chin. "So?"

"They want me back for another audition, with other potential actors to see how the chemistry works."

"Well," Lily relaxes, as much as possible, her posture naturally quite firm and rigid. "Then we have no problem. You seem to have chemistry with everyone."

Magnus shrugs, stabbing at a piece of tomato. "You'd think."

Lily narrows her eyes at him, hands raised over her keyboard. "You're not going to go all gross and personal on me, are you? Can't you wait for Isabelle to come back?"

"Isabelle is out and probably won't be back for at least thirty minutes, probably more." Magnus pouts, making his eyes as wide as possible. "And you brought it up..."

Lily sighs. "Just fire me now. Save me the trauma."

"It's about Alexander." Magnus says, carrying on as though Lily hadn't spoken. "It's been two days, and he still hasn't texted me. Or called."

"I don't know who this guy is," Lily tells him. "Nor do I really care."

"We had a great conversation, and he's sweet and gentle and so, _so handsome,_ " Magnus doesn't sob, he's just very emotionally invested in how beautiful Alec Lightwood is. "My flirting was turned on high voltage - and he _still_ hasn't contacted me. What am I doing wrong?"

"Ignoring his only desires?" Lily suggests. Magnus glares at her pointedly. "I don't know. I told you, I don't do feelings, my own let alone anyone else's."

Magnus is pretty sure he saw her flirting with Maia, the bartender at the gala, but he doesn't mention it, mostly in the name of self-preservation.

"Maybe I should just ask Isabelle, she might know if I've done or said something to upset him." Magnus frowns, stabbing at a stray piece of carrot. "I know it's not because he's straight. He was definitely interested in what I have to offer."

Lily's face screws up in a tight expresson of disgust. "I cannot believe you just spoke those words in my office."

Magnus shrugs nonchalantly, crossing one leg elegantly over the other. "It's true. And, before you ask - no, I absolutely do not have any shame. Not even an ounce."

"What does Isabelle have to do with this guy? He's the one whose pants you want to jump in to."

Magnus stifles a laugh behind his hand, in parts shocked and others amused. Trust Lily to be so forward and blunt in her questioning, despite claiming to not care.

"Alexander is Isabelle's older brother. The detective?"

Lily stares. Magnus waits, knowing that it will surely sink in eventually, if not quickly.

"I think I have heard of him," Lily admits, waving a hand dismissively. "Is him being a detective really an important fact, though?"

Magnus drops his fork, staring at her dead in the eye. "It is very important."

Lily rolls her eyes at him, but he stands by his statement. Hell, he hasn't been able to get the image of Alec at the gala out of his head in the past two days - Mr Tall, Dark and Sexy with his tight charcoal vest and his matching tie and his gorgeous everything and his overwhelming compassion and his gentle nature-

Magnus is brought from his rather pleasant reverie to Lily clicking her fingers obnoxiously close to his face.

"Why don't you just call him?" Lily asks, her face still close to his.

"I don't have his number." Magnus reminds her, fixing her with a pointed look.

"He's Isabelle's brother." Lily pulls back, her dark eyes wide enough to drown in. "Why don't you just ask _her_ for his number?"

 

* * *

 

"Pass me the notes you have on Kristen's roommate."

"Elesia Cartwright?" Alec flicks through his rather haphazard pile of notes and files. "Do you want just the notes on her, or the notes on the apartment too?"

Lydia hums, peeking over the top of her laptop. "Yeah, hand them all over." She decides, after a moment's pause. "I can't help but feel like we've missed something."

They'd spent an hour talking to Elesia Cartwright, but at the end of it they'd barely walked away with more than they had when they arrived. Everything they learnt had lined up with what they already presumed.

"I get what you mean," Alec admits. They've holed themselves up in one of the smaller conference rooms, fortunately very empty and rarely used, in their attempt to quiet the rest of the world and get better progress on the case.

It feels like they've gotten nowhere. They're just running in circles, chasing their own tails, hoping for a different outcome each time.

"I have this nagging sense that there's something really obvious we're just not getting." Alec shuffles his notes together and slides them over. "But I can't put my finger on _what_ which just makes things worse."

He taps the end of his pen against the table. Lydia smiles at him sympathetically, transferring his notes onto her laptop. They work really well together, which is odd, considering the only other person that Alec works so well with ... is Jace.

He's known Lydia for barely a week, a blip in the space-time-continuum in comparison to how long he's known Jace, and his relationship with one is in no way the same as his relationship with the other - but he does feel comfortable around both of them, which in itself is very strange.

He and Jace went through the academy together, they trained and studied and built up their skills together. They went on their first case together, saw their first crime scene together, the first time Alec apprehended a killer, it was with the knowledge that Jace would keep him safe, that Jace's gun was trained on the guy so that he could move in without the concern that he wouldn't make it out alive.

He literally owes his life to Jace.

But this case, it's drawn him and Lydia together so quickly ... he doesn't worry about what he says or does around her, not like he does with other people. He trusts Lydia, which is a huge thing for him. He hasn't told her, because he's still only known her for a short while, but he gets the strangest feeling that she already knows.

It's in the way they work together, the way their minds seem to be running on the same track, the way they flit in and out of conversations and interrogations, the way they can communicate with only a look. It's key to have with someone in his line of work, especially someone you're on a case with. The more connected you are with your partner, the quicker the case is likely to be solved, because you're both on the same wavelength and are more likely to come to the same conclusions without words.

"Hey, you had that gala the other night, right? For your sister's boss?"

Another thing about Lydia that he appreciates, is how closely she listens, and how much free space she gives him. In two days, she hasn't breathed a word about the gala, just let him focus on the case and take his mind off it all.

He still hasn't called Magnus. He doesn't know how to cross that line - Magnus is so put-together and talented and passionate ... Alec still can't fathom how he managed to attract Magnus' attention in the first place, he has no clue how he's supposed to maintain it.

"Yeah," Alec nods slowly. He knows the conversation is leading somewhere, he's just not quite sure of _where_ yet.

"How was it?" Lydia asks, tilting down the lid of her laptop. "If you don't mind my asking, I just think we need a few minutes away from this. On a much lighter topic."

"I don't mind." Alec shifts his things over. She has a point, perhaps if they take a break they'll realise what's bugging them so much. "It was, well, it was a lot of fun. The band was ... interesting, not bad, just..."

"Not really your sound?" Lydia fills in.

"Pretty much." Alec shuffles in his seat, getting comfortable. "Apparently, they raised a lot of money, though, which is good, obviously."

"See anyone there you like?" Lydia asks, perking an eyebrow, in a mannerism so like his sister that Alec is a little scared of the day they actually meet. "I'm sure it would have been a great place, even to look, considering how well-dressed everyone must have been."

She's smirking at him. She's actually smirking at him, quirked lips and a devilish glint in her steel blue eyes.

"Maybe." Alec admits, quietly.

"Hm." Lydia tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you going to tell me about this someone, or do I have to get one of the guys from IT to hack into your phone."

The look she gives him is downright terrifying, as though she will dare to go to such lengths, which Alec honestly believes she would.

He'd rather not talk about this, with anyone, let alone a colleague, but if Lydia's persistence is anything like Isabelle's, it's better for him to get the suffering out of the road now.

"Well, he's tall, handsome, bit of a flair for the dramatics but in a sweet way..." He takes a pause, hoping he doesn't have to divulge anything else, but Lydia's sharp stare warns him that isn't an option.

"Looks pretty damn good in a suit, too." He adds, a little regretfully. Regret mainly because of the image he's just put into his own head. Of how good Magnus looked at the gala, after his speech, barely an arm's width away from him...

"So did you end up getting Magnus' number?" Lydia asks, casually.

Alec slouches, staring at Lydia with eyes as wide as a deer's caught in headlights. "How did you - no, you know what, I really don't want to know."

Lydia laughs softly. "I'd like to say it's because I'm just a really skilled detective," She smiles warmly at him, the same teasing air that Isabelle has. "Unfortunately, that's not true. Jace told me."

"Jace?" Alec leans forward with the quick precision of a whip. "How did you and Jace get on the topic of who I - nope, not going there."

"He was making coffee, I went to get some of my own, and we started talking about the gala. He told me that you and Magnus hit it off really well - admittedly, he pretended to be disgusted about it, but really I think he finds it cute, he just can't admit it."

"I'm going to kill him." Alec states, deadpan despite the rush inside of him.

Even Jace knows? Jace - the same guy who got himself locked in a cupboard after a one night stand went bad - has managed to figure out that Alec is interested in Magnus? And, apparently that Magnus is interested in Alec in return?

"Probably not the best threat to make in front of a detective, inside the walls of an NYPD precinct." Lydia shrugs. "But, you know, your life not mine."

"I can't believe that Jace knows. And he's telling people?" Alec shakes his head, frustratedly. "Even if he lives, it won't be for lack of effort."

Lydia rolls her eyes, but it's somewhat fond, so Alec doesn't take much offence. Before she can respond, before Alec can even finish his tirade of irritation, the door to the conference room swings open.

To say that Alec is not expecting the person who walks through is the century's biggest understatement.

"Isabelle?" He shoots up out of his chair, heart beating rapidly in his chest. "What are you doing here? What's wrong? Did something happen to you? To Max?"

Isabelle rolls her eyes, and for a split-second Alec feels a chilling sense of déjà vu. "Max is fine, as far as I'm aware, I haven't heard from him in a few hours, maybe you should call him?" She fixes him with a sharp glare. " _I'm_ fine, for the most part."

"For the most part?"

"You haven't called Magnus." Isabelle's hands gravitate towards her hips. "Why?"

"Why is it any of your business?" Alec asks, his walls of defence shooting up like a barricade. " _He_ gave me his number, for _me_ to call. It's up to me when I do that."

"It's my business as someone who cares about both of you, and who understands better than you how good you'd be together if you just gave him a chance." Isabelle's voice softens. "Why haven't you called him, Alec?"

"I've been busy." He turns, for the first time since Isabelle barged in, remembering that he's not alone. "There's this whole case, and - I'm sorry, I'm being really rude."

He smiles apologetically at Lydia. "Isabelle, this is Detective Branwell, she's working on the case with me." He gestures loosely to his sister, hoping that they won't have to talk about him any more. "This is Isabelle Lightwood, my _obsessive_ younger sister."

Lydia stands up. "Please, call me Lydia." She smiles, holding out her hand as Isabelle walks closer. "Alec has told me a lot about you."

Isabelle's red-stained lips pull up at the corners slowly. "He hasn't told me _nearly_ enough about you." She shrugs, her hand still within Lydia's. "Perhaps because he's boring, and doesn't think to mention about the beautiful new detective he's working this unfortunate case with."

Alec frowns. Is his sister actually flirting, here of all places? More than that - is Lydia _blushing_?

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Lydia replies, her voice just as soft as her smile.

"Likewise."

"How did you get in here?" Alec asks. The feeling in the room is making him a little uncomfortable - he's not used to feeling like a third wheel when the only other person in the room is someone _he's_ close with.

"Jace let me in." Isabelle shrugs, not looking away from Lydia.

"He's not supposed to, not if it isn't an emergency. We're working a case, here, Iz."

This attracts Isabelle's gaze. "I'm sorry, but the fact that you won't call a man who is so obviously into you, and who you in return are so obviously into it is actually _painful_ , constitutes as an emergency in my books."

"I'll _call_ him."

"When?"

It's Lydia, not Isabelle, who asks. Her and Isabelle are no longer shaking, or frankly holding, hands, but they're still standing quite close together.

"I'm sorry, Alec." Lydia smiles apologetically. "But your sister is right. You like him, and he likes you back, I don't understand what could be keeping you from calling him."

Alec sighs. He doesn't have time for this. He has a case to work on. "Look, it's between Magnus and myself, okay? I will call him when I want, when I have time, and not because someone else wants me to."

With that, he stalks out of the room, ignoring Lydia's half-hearted pleas and Isabelle's call of his name.

He needs some air, to think, to breathe. To get away from the stifling expectations of other people.

 

* * *

 

Magnus kicks the door to his apartment closed with his boot, his hands full of scripts and takeout and of course his phone because he is nothing if not a man of hope. He supposes it would be easier if he had a bag, or a trolley, or even if he accepted Isabelle's offer of help instead of dismissing her early for the day.

He's a stubborn man, he's made it all this way, through the elevator and up the adjoining stairs - because the elevator only goes so far - and through his apartment door. The hard part has already come and passed.

He drops the scripts, various snippets of projects to audition for, plus a new scene for his callback on Thursday, on the table in a haphazard stack. He can worry about them after he's eaten - he picked up takeout from Marco's down the street and the smell is driving him crazy.

A low, round purring sound comes from beside him. Magnus looks down, his small grey tabby kitten darting in and around his ankles.

"Hello, Chairman. How are you today?"

Chairman Meow's response is to claw at Magnus' boots. He's too little for it to do too much damage, and the whole image is very sweet. "Dear, these are good boots, I understand that you're hungry but you don't need to take it out on my shoes."

Chairman makes a low sound in response that Magnus takes as something along the lines of 'feed me'. He's as bad as his father in that aspect.

"Just give me a second." Magnus tuts.

He sets his takeout down and heads to the cupboard where the cat food is kept. The whole time it takes him to fill Chairman Meow's bowl, the small kitten is darting in and around his legs, trying to get his nose close enough to even just lick the packet, his small pink tongue darting out.

"Cheeky," Magnus teases, tapping the bowl with the silver spoon. As soon as he's tilted his weight, Chairman has surged forward to attack his bowl with more fervour than a cat his size should be capable of.

He returns to his takeout, taking it, his phone and a bottle of sparkling water to the couch where he plops himself down. His plan is to eat and catch up on America's Next Top Model before he has to turn his attention to his scripts. Dinner is the one time of day he elects to leave to himself, a time all his own. His days are usually so busy that he can't schedule time for himself, and whenever he finally trudges home remains to be the only chance he gets.

Not that he is, in any way, complaining. He's completely aware of how lucky he is, to have the job he does, to have the career options he's been presented with, this movie especially.

He just also needs his alone time like anyone else.

He's just about to find out whether Michelle or Rachel go home when _'Survivor'_ by Destiny's Child starts tinkling from his phone, where it waits on his coffee table. The number isn't one he recognises, but he picks it up anyway, because in his line of business unknown numbers are often what end up paying that week's rent.

He breathes in deeply as he swipes to answer the call, steeling himself for either a suggestion or a rejection. It may be after seven on a Monday night, but Hollywood doesn't run by a normal schedule. It also extends further than LA, which is why he's thankfully managed to stay stationed in New York, a state he prefers exponentially over California. There's too much sun, too much false happiness. People pretending to be and have more than they are and own, because they think it's what other people want. Because they think they have to be someone they're not to get to where they want to go.

New York is gritty and dark and real. Just the way Magnus likes it.

"You've reached the ever-magnificent Magnus Bane, how can I be of service?"

A warm, low laugh sounds through his phone speakers. _"Is that your official title? 'Ever-magnificent'?"_

Magnus' heart actually skips a beat from behind his ribcage. " Alexander?"

 _"Hi."_ Even over the phone, Alec sounds positively adorable. _"I hope I'm not interrupting anything..."_

"Nothing important." Magnus reassures him, pausing the recording. He leans back onto the couch, his free arm slung over the back of the couch. "How are you doing, Alec?"

 _"I'm ... well, frankly, I'm exhausted."_ Alec laughs nervously. _"But that kind of comes with the job description. Other than that, I'm doing pretty well. How - how are you?"_

Magnus hums. Chairman Meow leaps onto the couch, stalking over to perch himself on Magnus' knee. "Better now that you've called."

_"Yeah, about that. I'm really sorry that it's taken me so long. Between work, and everything else-"_

"Darling," Magnus interrupts gently, reaching out to curl his fingers along Chairman Meow's back. "I'm just happy that you did call."

 _"Still."_ Alec sighs. Magnus knows it's too early in their, acquaintanceship, to find it sweet. _"I'm sorry."_

"Apology accepted." Magnus says, guessing by Alec's tone, and persistence, that he's not going to give it up easily. Magnus has more pleasant things he'd like to talk about. Like their potential date.

_"You, uh - at the gala, you said something about, um, about coffee?"_

Magnus taps his fingers gently against Chairman's back. His kitten, to his credit, doesn't seem all that bothered. He snuggles down into Magnus' lap and purrs contently. "That I did. Have you reconsidered? We can always do dinner instead?"

That earns him a quiet laugh, which he feels quite pleased about. _"I haven't - reconsidered, that is. I'm still up for coffee, if you are."_

"I am always up for coffee with you, Alexander. Let's make that perfectly clear."

There's a beat of silence. And then. _"Are you free tomorrow?"_

"I have a free spot around eleven." Magnus isn't entirely sure what he's doing before or after that, but eleven sounds like a reasonable time, and he can always reschedule. He's sure that Isabelle won't protest.

_"There's a cafe a few blocks down from the precinct, it's called Beans & Co?"_

"I have heard of that place." Foolishly, Magnus nods as he speaks, despite being very aware that Alec cannot see him. "Shall I expect to see you there?"

_"Not seeing me would kind of defeat the purpose of going on a date, would it not?"_

Magnus sighs dreamily. "So you agree, then. It is a date?"

 _"Well, I know I'd like it to be a date."_ Alec pauses. Magnus wishes they were in person, so he could see the expressions that flicker across. _"I'll probably be dressed for work though - and I have to warn you, there's a chance I might be late, so-"_

"Alexander, we are going on a date. You could turn up an hour late in a pink bunny costume and I would still be excited to see you." Magnus strokes the space behind Chairman Meow's ear. "I understand how hectic your life can be, how hard it might be to arrange our schedules so we can meet up - and yet, in knowing that, I would still love to go on a date with you. Preferably tomorrow, as it's closer than the day after."

_"Okay. Okay. So, I'll see you tomorrow, then."_

"Beans & Co, as close to eleven as we can make it." Magnus smiles in excitement. "I'm looking forward to it."

 _"Me too."_ Magnus can practically imagine the smile he hopes that Alec is wearing, the same one he'd sported as he showered Magnus in warm praises after his speech. Not because he had to, not because he wanted anything, but because he genuinely had nice things to say.

"Goodnight, Alexander. Until tomorrow, of course."

_"Tomorrow, right. Goodnight Magnus."_

Magnus removes his phone from his ear, and stares at it, already replaying the conversation back over in his head.

"Tomorrow," He tells Chairman. "Alexander and I are going on a date, tomorrow."

Tomorrow feels like an excitement-filled eternity away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit up [my tumblr](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com) or my [fandom side-blog](http://drugs-and-candy.tumblr.com) to talk to me - about malec and shadowhunters 
> 
> Next chapter: There May Be Something There


	5. There May Be Something There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec goes on a date, and Simon gets a phone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Something There from Beauty and the Beast because I watched it in the midst of writing this and I had to. Also, after writing this chapter, I saw it for a second time and cried. the thin reference towards 2x18 with this chapter title is entirely uninentional.
> 
> i'm sorry this has taken so long, it was supposed to be posted last week, but between life, coda fics and the mess that 2.18 made me, this has been pushed back.
> 
> to be fair, the chapters are getting longer every time I write them. so I hope the wait is worth it. :) 
> 
> enjoy!!

 

Alec isn't new to dating.

He's twenty-four years of age, he's dated, he's had boyfriends before, he's even had one night stands before, although those are so rare he can count them one hand, and very far between.

He's not the same person he was ten years ago. He knows, for the most part, how to date. But it's been three years since his last serious relationship, and at least two months since he'd last had a date with someone he was actually interested in.

And he feels like he's an adolescent before their first ever date with the guy they've crushed on for the entirety of high school, standing before their mirror with the third outfit change of the night before prom, staring at their own reflection in despair.

This situation is very different. For one, he's not a teenager anymore. And he's not standing in front of a mirror. And it's certainly not prom.

But he still feels like he wants to hide beneath his desk if only to escape from his own anxieties.

And, of course, no one actually knows about this date except for Magnus, because he hasn't told anyone. (He's electing to presume that Magnus hasn't told anyone because it's marginally better for his stress levels.)

He's being ridiculous, he wants to go on this date with Magnus, he had a hard time sleeping the night before because he was so excited about it. No one has sparked such a deep interest in him in so long, not like Magnus has - he's never felt actual sparks in the presence of someone he's just met, before he'd met Magnus at the gala.

But this is their first date.

This is the date that sets expectations for all future dates. This is a make-or-break moment for their budding relationship - this is the foundation to build their possible, as so far  _unexisting_ relationship.

Maybe Alec should order an iced tea instead of a coffee, considering how on edge he already is. Caffeine isn't exactly going to help him.

 

* * *

 

Because it's their first date, and Alec is already nervous enough to possibly empty the already limited contents of his stomach - he's twenty minutes late.

This torturous case is now dipping into his personal life, and that's not fair.

Thankfully, he spots Magnus pretty much the second he walks through the doors, at a corner table near the window, in a spot that is thankfully fairly quiet. Alec exhales deeply, buttoning, and then unbuttoning the top of his shirt. He's not wearing a tie. Should he be wearing a tie? He doesn't like them all that much, mainly because they're tight and frankly suffocating, but he can see the attraction ... maybe he should have actually worn a tie. At the very least, it would give him an option of loosening it.

He's moved on to the collar of his shirt, fixing it and flattening it until it's flat and smooth, when Magnus spots him. He stands up from his chair in one smooth, fluid movement, and just - smiles.

Alec trips - over a groove in the floor, not his own feet - but manages to recover quick enough for Magnus to not notice. He hopes.

"Hi," He greets, with a smile of his own.

"Hello, yourself." Magnus says with an appraising grin. He gestures to the table, suggesting they sit.

Magnus isn't wearing a tie either, which relaxes Alec a little. He's wearing a deep purple blazer with a simple black top and a silky pastel blue and grey scarf, which he unwinds as they sit down. He's paired it all with tight grey jeans and purple ankle boots, and his hair is artfully styled to look delicately soft. Alec feels slightly inedaquate in the presence of such a well-dressed man, but then he reminds himself that he is on a date with aforementioned man, so obviously his looks are at the very least passable.

He knows he's not ugly, he's aware of that much, he's strong and built - because being fit is part of his job description - and he's an alright looking guy ... just nowhere near the scale that Magnus rests on.

If he's a seven, Magnus is a twelve. Hell, Magnus is gorgeous to the level of infinity, both inside and out.

"You look great," Alec blurts out, because he has zero filter. He feels heat like a fire roaring up his neck, but he grits his teeth and holds it back, as well as he can.

Magnus looks almost stunned, which throws Alec off-kilter because surely he knows how good he looks? He remembers Isabelle telling him, a while back, that Magnus refuses to have a stylist because he prefers to have control over what he wears.

He very clearly has good taste.

"Why, thank you, Alexander." Magnus seems to recover, his usual brightness coming back, glowing like sunshine. "You're looking very handsome, yourself."

Alec glances down at his own black button-up, as though he's forgotten what he's wearing. It's pretty standard issue, for him and for detectives like him. He hadn't even thought about it before he threw it on this morning, although he had gotten dressed before his morning coffee, which might explain a fair bit.

"I have to get this out of the way before I embarrass myself anymore," Alec admits, fiddling with a napkin on the table. "It's been a while since I've been on a date. I could be really bad at this. And I've been told I can be quite - blunt, at times. I tend to speak before I think."

Magnus blinks warmly. He reaches over and lays his hand atop Alec's, the one previously fiddling with a napkin. He doesn't do anything else, just lays it there.

"I tend to believe that people who are blunt are just open about their honesty." Magnus winks. "And honesty is a trait I  _greatly_ admire."

Alec turns his hand, so that his fingers fall between Magnus'. "That's good to hear."

They share a calming look, one that chips off the edge of his nerves, enough for him to momentarily forget what he was even worried about in the first place. Magnus is surprisingly easy to be around, his entire demeanour is welcoming, which is not something Alec is around that often.

It's a pleasant surprise.

"I know that work-talk can be quite tedious, but I'm curious as to how you became a detective." Magnus leans forward, his brilliant eyes drawing Alec in. They're still holding hands. "Was it something you've always been interested in?"

Alec startles a little at the question. "Uh - hm. Not really?" He cringles inwardly. "My parents are, let's just say they're New York socialites, basically. My father is a High Court barrister and my mother works for the DA's office, though she used to work as a defence attorney, and she has all these fancy friends ... anyway-"

He cuts himself off. This is a little deeper than he usually goes on a first date, and he likes Magnus, so far. Scaring him off doesn't sound like the best idea.

"Alexander?" Magnus smiling, reassuringly. He squeezes Alec's hand, encouraging him to continue, if he wants.

"We disagree on a few things." Alec summarises. "They wanted me to join the legal system like them, in that direction, and when I was deciding what to study at college, I was so upset with them that I decided to enter into law enforcement."

It was a hard, dark time, and one that Alec prefers to keep in the furthest crevices of his mind.

"My parents are of the belief that joining the police force is accepting a job of a lesser standard - in their eyes, by striving to join the NYPD I wasn't aiming high enough for what they expected of me."

Alec shrugs. "At the time, the last thing I cared about was impressing them. And now, I love my job too much to give a damn. They still don't approve, so it's generally just something we refrain from discussing."

There's a look of awe that encompasses Magnus' entire body. A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and his hand tightens almost instinctively around Alec's. For a few moments there is nothing except silence, and it's surprisingly comfortable.

Alec feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, just by telling another person. Isabelle knows, of course, because she was there. Jace knows, because he was the only friend Alec had for the first year at the academy and Jace got Alec drunk during a celebratory night out - Alec is very loose-lipped when intoxicated.

He's known Magnus for less time than he'd known Jace, and yet he isn't scrambling to take back what he's just said, to pass it off as nothing - because it's not nothing, and more than that, he inexplicably trusts Magnus.

Not with the bigger secrets he keeps hidden, but with the slighter ones. He isn't afraid to talk about his dysfunctional relationship with his parents, or how he got into the career he's in.

"What about you?" He asks, because as much as he isn't concerned about Magnus knowing his lighter secrets, it doesn't equal a complacence in talking about himself. That is still something he isn't fond of.

"Well, I spent five years working in various coffee establishments to survive, whilst auditioning for every role I felt suited me. As I'm sure you've learnt by now, I don't take roles that don't help my -  _our_ \- community, because I believe that representation is the first step to equal recognition." Magnus gets the same soft look he wore during his speech at the gala. "If people see LGBT+ characters on screen, then it will become accepted and hopefully, just normal."

"Not many people would be so dedicated." Alec acknowledges.

Magnus shrugs, but it's obvious how pleased he is by Alec's comment. "Thank you, darling, that's very sweet."

Alec swallows, and the slight break in conversation reminds him that it's been hours since he's eaten, or really drunk, anything.

"I'm sorry to, interrupt, but do you mind if I get a coffee?" He's decided against iced tea, mainly because the date hasn't turned down the rough direction he'd anticipated. And he'd really prefer coffee. "And maybe something to eat? It's been a rather hectic morning."

Magnus shakes his head. "Absolutely not. In fact, coffee sounds delicious."

Alec isn't sure if coffee is a good basis for a relationship, but it certainly helps. And they are at a coffee shop, it would be almost blasphemous if they didn't partake.

"What's your order?" Alec asks, standing up.

Magnus frowns, and it's a rather cute sight. "You don't have to-"

"Please." Alec's mouth quirks up at the side. "I did, technically ask you out. And besides that, I want to. You can buy me coffee next time."

The words are out before he even realises he's spoken them. Thankfully for him, Magnus doesn't seem bothered by it. "Next time? That sounds promising."

"Coffee order?" Alec asks, attempting to fight off the smile before it can spread properly.

"Large iced caramel mocha with two shots of espresso, and a generous topping of cream and cinnamon. Thank you, darling."

Alec nods, the smile breaking without his permission. "That sounds disgusting." He tells Magnus. "How can you drink it?"

Magnus takes it in his stride. "With pleasure and great ease."

He tacks a wink onto the end, which affects Alec more than he expects considering how cheesy it is.

"I don't know how you can even call that coffee," Alec states. "Seems like a heart attack waiting to happen if you ask me." He smirks, not daring enough to wink, and heads towards the counter.

His heart is beating fast enough to burst through his chest. Worst part is, he can't even blame it on the coffee yet.

 

* * *

 

"Earth to Alec?"

Alec jolts and blinks in surprise. Jace had come out of nowhere, plopping himself on the corner of Alec's desk like he belongs there.

"Has the mothership finally called you back?" Jace smirks.

Alec glares as heatedly as he can. "Do you want to get clocked in the nose?"

Jace's smirk just widens, and Alec recognises the daring look from their early academy days, when Jace would drag him into any semi-daredevil situation because the thrill excited him.

"What do you want, Jace?"

Alec doesn't mention that his annoyance spikes from more than just Jace being his usual stupid self. He was in the midst of a very pleasant bout of reverie, and being pulled from it is irritating for both the abrupt shift and the fact he'd been caught daydreaming in the first place.

"Lydia told me to give you this." It's a slip of paper, torn from a notebook, by the looks of it. The slip reads:  _105 Heston Avenue._

"Do you know what this is about?" Alec asks. The address is written quickly, hastily - haphazardly in a way Lydia  _never_  is.

"No clue." Jace shrugs, hopping off Alec's desk. "Lydia was in a rush when she handed it to me - or rather, threw it at my chest as she darted past. I'm guessing she wants you to meet her there."

"Then why couldn't she have just texted me?" Alec asks, pondering aloud more than actually looking for an answer.

"I don't know, Alec. Call her. Or, better yet, just go to the address and see what she wants."

Alec sighs. He doesn't have a good feeling about this, about any of this. Lydia isn't the type to just dash out, not when they're in the middle of such an important case - come to think of it, he hasn't had a chance to actually speak to her properly, one-on-one all day. She's been flitting in and out of the precinct all morning, and Alec had just thought that she was busy keeping her supervisor up to date with the progression of the case.

"If I give you twenty bucks, can you finish off my paperwork for me?" Alec asks, already gathering the things he knows he'll need, like his phone and wallet.

"You don't have to pay me." Jace hands Alec his badge, knowing he'll probably leave it behind. "Just, buy me dinner tomorrow night."

"Why tomorrow night?" Alec asks, stuffing his phone into his back pocket.

"I'm busy tonight." An odd, strangely fond look comes over Jace's face, before his expression straightens out, his eyes narrowing. "Are you doing something tomorrow night that will keep you from hanging out with me?"

Alec steadfastly averts his gaze. He doesn't have time for this. "Uh-"

"Alec-"

"I have a date with Magnus tomorrow." He admits, practically whispering. He scans his desk, looking for anything important he might have missed. He has a feeling that he won't have a chance to get back for a while. "I'm having dinner at his place. Okay?"

Jace smiles, and it's bright and proud and Alec finds himself staggering under the weight of it all.

"Save your sappy, brother-in-arms, 'I'm so proud' speech for another time." Alec offers Jace a half-hearted smile. "I have to meet Lydia and find out what the hell is going on."

Jace pulls him into an awkward, manly half-hug, patting his back a few times before letting him go. "No speech required."

Alec smiles back, and then his mind flits into work-mode and the cogs in his head tick over and over in quick sucession.

It's only once he's hopped in the passenger seat of one of the precinct's vehicles that he checks his phone. 

 

 **Jace:**   _I am proud of you. But more than that, I'm happy for you. You deserve this. No go kick some criminal ass._

 

* * *

 

"Simon, I need to talk to you."

Simon glances up, his fingers pressed to the frets of his guitar. He'd been fiddling around with the strings, not really writing anything, just playing for the sake of playing - until Raphael had walked up to him with a dark face like Ragnarok personified.

"About anything in particular?" Simon asks, because they've been at the offices of Dumort Records for four hours and Raphael hasn't said a word to him until now, so he doesn't mind imbedding his own sarcasm.

Raphael scowls, and gestures towards an adjacent door. Simon glances back, sharing a puzzled expression with Maureen, who offers him a sympathetic thumbs-up from behind her own stringed instrument. They'd been taken to a different room this time, one that is apparently connected to Raphael's office, as Simon discovers upon passing through.

The sight of Raphael's office brings with it no surprises. The windows are hidden behind black-out drapes, the only light coming from strings of white fluroscent balls that hang from the wall in evenly spaced intervals. The desk is a gleaming black, much like Raphael's current suit, every single inch flawlessley spotless. The walls are lined with framed records, many from the band 'Good vs Evil' - last Simon heard, they'd jumped record companies.

They must have been the band Raphael worked with before them. Simon tucks the knowledge away for another time, his eyes still scanning the room. There's a high-backed leather chair behind the desk, two smaller, matching seats on the other side. On Raphael's desk sits the usual knick knacks, a laptop, a stack of files and binders, a metal cyllinder holding pens and ... a black mug with two white hands and a blood-red apple.

Simon stifles a laugh behind his hand, fearing that the sound will escape without his permission, regardless.

"What?" Raphael snaps, his dark eyes narrowing threateningly. At least, Simon imagines it's supposed to be threatening. He personally isn't all that scared of Raphael anymore - certainly not after seeing the mug.

"Nothing." He replies, miming a zip across his mouth.

Raphael continues to stare, as though he's hoping that he'll get Simon to crack. Simon almost does laugh, at that.

" _Dios, me de paciencia..."_ Raphael pinches the bridge of his nose, appearing as if Simon's presence actually pains him. Oh well. He invited Simon into his office, what did he expect? "Is your problem with the mug?" He asks.

Simon sniggers, more at the cartoon-villain air to Raphael's tone than at the question. "Not at all." He smirks, calm and easy. "My sister loves Twilight."

Raphael mutters something low that Simon knows is Spanish, and has a feeling isn't all that kind. "For your information, an old friend of mine gave me that mug - it's his idea of humour. He thinks he's very funny."

Simon grins. "Let me guess? You're not of the same belief?"

Raphael shook his head, glaring at the mug as though it personally offends him. Which, by the sounds of things, it does. "Magnus and I agree on very few things. This is not one of them."

Simon remembers their conversation - if one can call it that - at the bar on Saturday night. "Sorry if this sounds intrusive-" Raphael glares like he's annoyed in advance. "I just can't see how you and  _Magnus_  are friends. You're so ... different."

Like glitter vs ... death, or something equally as dark and malicious.

"We have a past that has entwined us together." Raphael's mouth quirks in what Simon imagines is his equivalent of a smirk. "It is not by choice, but by an inability to alter circumstances."

Simon scoffs out a laugh. "Of course," He says, heading towards the chairs, believing that to be Raphael's reasoning, for bringing him in here.

"Of course?" Raphael echoes, the question clear in his tone.

"It just doesn't surprise me," Simon explains, reclining back in the chair. "That you would compare your relationship with an 'old friend' as similair to being a prisoner."

The chair is surprisingly comfortable. He could probably fall asleep in a chair like this - he's slept in far worse. A canoe, once, though that's not a story he tells often.

"You spend the nights I have with Magnus Bane, and you will understand why." Raphael replies, drily. His expression settles, serene albeit firm. "But that is not what I am here to talk to you about."

He slides behind the desk and lowers himself gracefully onto the chair. Simon shuffles, slouching as much as he can without hurting himself, just to contradict with Raphael's strict posture. It's probably childish, but he's not in the habit of caring.

"You're the lead singer, and for the majority of your songs, you carry the rest of the band through your lyrics and the strum of your strings. You set the foundation for the band to rise upon, and simply speaking, everything rests on your shoulders."

Raphael stares at him, unabashed and unrelenting. Simon swallows. "Like Atlas?" He croaks. "The Greek god who held up the sky?"

"Titan, actually." Raphael corrects, quirking his eyebrow smugly. "He was made to support Mount Olympus, for being involved in a riot against Zeus."

Simon rolls his eyes. "Show off." He mutters, although there isn't as much irritation in his voice as he'd like.

"My point is," Raphael continues, like he didn't just correct Simon, like Simon hadn't just lead him on a second tangent in as many minutes. "You are the one your fellow band members look to for guidance. You need to be better than good, better than great. You are the backbone of Champagne Enema, and for this to work, frankly, you need to improve upon your existing skills."

Simon isn't sure whether he should be offended or not. Yes, Raphael has just admitted that he has skill, but he also said he isn't good enough. Does that even count as a compliment? A backwards one, maybe.

"So, what are you suggesting then?" Simon asks. He thinks his confusion is appropriate. He's still trying to figure out if what had just happened was simply Raphael being nice, in a twisted, convoluted way.

"I'm going to limit the sessions the band has with me," Raphael leans forward, hands steepled beneath his chin. "Jordan and Maureen are good, and I trust them to bring their best when they need to. As of next week, I am also going to begin booking some minor gigs, to get your name out there. If we want this record to do well, people need to know who you are."

His eyes darken, but Simon doesn't detect any malice. "You are required to write the songs for aforementioned record. If you are interested, I am willing to,  _host_ , individual sessions with you to help. I may not know much about writing songs, but I do know about structure and form, and I am, I'm sure, more organised than you."

Simon is less offended by this. He's notoriously unorganised. It's an unfortunate fact.

"It is just a thought," Raphael adds, almost nervously backtracking. "You are not bound or required to do anything. It is simply my job to suggest things that might help."

Simon straightens up, his shoulders hunched, hands clenched in his lap. "It's not a bad idea." He admits. "Song writing can be quite lonely at times. And when I get stuck, I'm just as likely to quit."

"Which is the last thing we want." Raphael acknowledges. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a probationary agreement." Simon replies, proud of how professional he sounds. "If it works, then yes. If it doesn't, I don't see the point in putting us both through that kind of suffering."

Raphael coughs, but it sounds a lot like a laugh to Simon. He smiles, rather pleased that he could get such a reaction, even if Raphael does try to hide it. Raphael plucks a crisp black card from a holder, and hands it over. The writing is silver and embedded, the sweeping letters pressed into the material firmly. Simon takes the card gingerly.

"There's my contact number, and email." Raphael explains. He doesn't add that it is a personal number, and Simon refrains from commenting on it. "Have a think over it tonight, and get back to me at some point tomorrow."

Raphael stands up fluidly. Simon hastily follows his lead. "You and the others have the rest of the day off. If inspiration strikes, listen to it. Otherwise, all I can ask is that you practice. Find your sound."

Simon nods, a staggering movement. "Right. Sure. Okay."

_Raphael and his freaking "sound"._

"And you have tomorrow off, as well." Raphael adds, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. "Unless, of course..."

"Of course." Simon echoes. He feels ... odd. Probably just because this is the first time Raphael has been semi-human towards him.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, and then pulls them back out. He doesn't know what to do, does he push the chair in? Does he thank Raphael? Does he ... what is the protocol for this kind of situation? Maybe he should stay, anyway, to show Raphael that he does care, that he is interested in making this band the best it can be.

"Goodbye, Simon." Raphael says after a moment, his attention still on his phone.

"Right," Simon nods, even though he's sure that Raphael isn't paying him much notice.

"Goodbye, Raphael."

 

* * *

 

105 Heston Avenue is a crime scene. A literal crime scene.

Alec flashes his badge to the petty officer guarding the police tape, and then ducks beneath it, mindful of the yellow markers on the ground. This scene is a lot worse than the first one in this case - he's assuming that this is to do with their case, considering Lydia's cryptic note.

In front of a small, two-bedroom unit - Alec had Jace look the address up - a cluster of police and emergency services people mill about. Inside of the house, the flashes of forensic's cameras flicker sporadically. Alec turns back to the petty officer near the tape, his nerves on edge like a livewire.

"Excuse me," He keeps a hand on his badge in case the officer doesn't remember him. "Do you know where I can find Detective Branwell?"

The officer nods grimly. "Detective Branwell stepped inside the house a moment ago, sir. I imagine you can find her there."

Alec nods his thanks, and then turns back to the house. It looks normal enough, when he peels away the extra layers of the crime scene and takes it as purely a house. Low-risk, quiet area of the neighbourhood - quiet, at least, for Manhattan - the kind of place one would expect young couples to live, or flatmates saving on rent.

The windows are dirty, but unbroken, and there's no sign of a break-in. The door handle is in-tact and turns with little effort. Either this isn't how the perpetrator got in, or they were let in by the victim. It makes no sense paired with the scattering of glass and blood on the footpath, like there's an invisible barrier between the house and the path.

The house is set out in open-spaced sections, with a long hallway up one side, and rooms extended off it. Lydia is standing in the first room, what appears to be a living/dining area connected to a rather cramped-looking kitchen.

Nothing appears to be out of the ordinary at first glance, until Alec looks closer. There's a cushion missing from the three seater couch, and the single one that is left has a minor tear on the top left corner. A small table has been knocked over, hidden behind the far side of the couch. There's a picture on the wall with a slight crack on the bottom, and it's hanging on a slight angle, like it's been bumped into. A spread of magazines lies on the dining table, which wouldn't be suspicious if the rest of the room didn't look meticulously tidy.

"Second victim is Paul Stuart, twenty-two years of age-" Alec shudders as Lydia relays the information. Isabelle is twenty-two. "Found at 11:28am by his girlfriend Sophie Clarke."

There's a careful perimeter of numbered markers around a patch of dried blood stains. Just because the body has been moved for the coroner doesn't necessarily mean that the evidence is gone too. It had only happened a couple of hours ago - uncomfortably, around the time he'd been at Beans & Co with Magnus.

Lydia sighs darkly. "Cause of death is organ failure due to the ten stab wounds in his abdomen and chest. The M.E hasn't confirmed it yet, but it looks like it was done with an average house knife."

Alec peers around the small dividing wall, glancing around the kitchen. "There's no knife blocks," He notes. By the looks of things, the crime itself seems to have been limited to just the living/dining area. The kitchen is clean and shiny and glaringly white.

"No knives missing from the drawers, either." Lydia says. She looks exhausted, shadows under her eyes and her mouth a taut line. "Sophie Clarke said that nothing was missing, at least that she could see. She'd been out at a morning lecture when it happened. Naturally, she's rather distraught about it all."

"Naturally." Alec echoes, nodding dazedly. "This isn't as brazen an attack as the first, how are we even sure it's the same one?"

Lydia grimaces, and pulls a small polaroid out of a plastic evidence bag, with a single gloved hand. "Because we found this next to the victim's body."

It's a close-up polaroid of Paul's face, eyes half-lidded, the life completely gone from them. On the bottom a message is written, in bold capital letters.

 

_**'HE IS NOT THE FIRST. NOR WILL HE BE THE LAST. 18.9.22'** _

 

"Do we have any idea what the code is?" Alec asks, ignoring the chilling shiver that races down his spine.

"I've sent it to the guys in the 98th precinct, they're notoriously good at breaking codes. Hopefully they'll be able to figure it out. It could be anything, a date, a time - some sick order that only makes sense to whoever did this." Lydia glances around despondently. "I don't know how this happened. There's no visible connection, bar their age. Kristen Hall was a student of Business and Economics before she dropped out. Paul Stuart never went to college, he works as an independant freelance graphic designer. They don't live in the same neighbourhood. I even called Elesia Cartwright, she's never heard of a Paul Stuart."

"Maybe we need to talk to his girlfriend, find out more about him." Alec suggests. "There has to be some reason that he was attacked the way he was."

He understands Lydia's sense of hopelessness. They haven't been able to find answers for Kristen Hall's family and friends, and now they have another victim that will lead to many questions and absolutely no answers.

"I mean, let's think about this." Alec waves his hands placatingly. "Kristen Hall was hit in the back of a head with what appeared to be the butt of a gun. Paul Stuart was stabbed with a knife in the torso. Both were very personal and intimate attacks, the person who did this would have to get very close..."

Alec took a swift step forward, until his face was inches from Lydia's. "And have a lot of anger built up inside of them."

Lydia's eyes brighten as Alec's words click in her mind. "That, atop of the public setting of the first victim and the fact there was no breaking and entering this time, means that they're very brazen ... and probably know both victims."

"To some capacity," Alec steps back. "At least now we have something to strive for. A connection between our two victims. If we can find that, we can extend it out to possible suspects.

"Although," He adds after a moment's thought. "We can't rule out the possibility that whoever killed Paul Stuart wanted to make it look like they'd killed Kristen Hall as well. We could be dealing with two different murderers."

"We're going to have to spend all night on this, aren't we?" Lydia asks, the question rather rhetoric, her mouth turned down at the corners.

"Why, got better plans?" Alec jokes, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. "A hot date or something?"

Lydia doesn't reply. Her eyes are downcast sheepishly and she subtly clasps her fingers in her hand. Realisation sinks in for Alec slowly, like cold water being poured down his shirt.

"You have a date?" Alec asks. "I was just joking, I didn't think - with who?"

Lydia still refuses to look up. Alec stills.

"Lydia..."

"Um, with - with Isabelle."

Alec blinks. "My sister ...  _that_  Isabelle?"

He feels like he's been doused in ice water, chills racing across his skin, his stomach twisting tightly.

"If it's a problem, I can always cancel..." Lydia glances up, hesitantly. She doesn't sound very enthusiastic about it, and Alec hates to be the source of other people's unhappiness, if he can help it.

"No, no." Alec shakes his head. "She'd kill me if she found out I tried to stop it."

The problem isn't with Lydia - he thinks she's great, and he'd consider them close to if not friends - nor with the fact she's a girl. Isabelle's been out pretty much as long as he has, though at first it was only between the two of them.

The problem, if he admits he has one, is that it's his sister. That's ... it's weird. His sister and his temporary case partner, on a date. Weird.

"I'm sorry if this is a little unsettling for you," Lydia offers a cautious smile. "I wasn't going to say anything. It's just drinks, it's nothing big. I can cancel, really, if you want to work on finding a connection."

"No, it's alright." Alec smiles back. He really doesn't mind, he just needs to work past the itching tension in the base of his skull. "I'll dig up what I can. You've already done a lot of work for this case, it's my turn."

Lydia steps back, out of the road of a forensics photographer. "Don't  _you_ have a hot date?"

Alec smiles unwittingly as he remembers his coffee date. It had gone so much better than he'd expected, he and Magnus got along so well they stayed there for over an hour - until Isabelle called Magnus and reminded him that he has an audition to get to, and kindly told him to 'move his ass'.

"Actually, Magnus and I went for coffee this morning."

"Really?" Lydia's smile widens, and then she holds up a pausing hand and gestures towards the back door. Alec nods and follows her, through into a small backyard with a patch of a vegetable garden at the side.

The crime scene is contained in the house, and this way they can talk without getting in the road of the forensics team actually doing their job. They can walk around later, checking out the different parts of the house, jotting down what they can gather about who Paul Stuart was and why he was targeted, with out the bother of being interrupted, or interfering. There isn't much they can do except get in the road at this point, it being a very tiny and cramped house.

"Okay. Tell me everything."

Alec rolls his eyes. "You and Isabelle are going to get along terrifyingly well." He states.

Lydia gently taps his shoulder. "Tell me."

"I called him last night -  _like I said I would_  - and we went for coffee this morning. Do you want to know our individual orders, or-"

Lydia glares, but it's not intimidating in any sense. "Just the exciting bits. Did you kiss him?"

Alec's blush rises up from his chest to his forehead. "Not ... not in that way."

They'd parted outside the building, Alec dropping a kiss on Magnus' cheek before he let his fear stop him. It had been a sweet moment, and the smile that Magnus gave in response was so warm it left Alec overwhelmed. He's a little anxious about what actually kissing Magnus will do to him.

"You're so cute when you're infatuated," Lydia teases, poking his stop light cheek. "When are you going out again?"

"Tomorrow night," Alec rubs the nape of his neck. "He's, uh - he's making dinner."

Lydia's entire face lights up at the news. She grabs his shoulder gently and squeezes it. Alec stops himself from squirming away, he isn't sixteen anymore, he can handle this kind of touch without his embarrassment taking over.

"I am so happy for you." Lydia states. Alec thinks it's fair to assume they're proper friends now, acquaintances wouldn't be so emotionally invested in his love life. "Not that this would have happened if you hadn't of called him."

"You know what?" Alec fights his urge to smirk. "On second thought, I  _would_ like you to cancel on Isabelle. You two are disastrous for my sanity as individuals."

Lydia laughs shortly, her eyes lit up with mirth. "Nice try. But you already gave your half-hearted permission and that's good enough for me."

Alec groans beneath his breath, but it's faint because Lydia has a point, which is even worse for him. He can see the two of them becoming thick as thieves within a week. If that.

"We should probably scope this house out." Lydia glances around the tiny backyard. "Post-poning it isn't working for us. It still has to be done."

Alec shudders, but nods. "This never gets any easier," His stomach twists painfully. "Walking through a fresh crime scene, categorising everything distantly, removed from the fact that there was an actual human being who lived and died there."

Lydia shares a grim look with him. "Unfortunately, it is part of the job description. But, if we can save another person's life, that makes it somewhat worth it."

"Yeah," Alec knows that Lydia is right. That's indisputable. "But sometimes ... when it gets really hard, you start to wonder ... what if we can't save another person? What if there is another victim that we can't save because we're not fast enough?"

"We can't devote every hour of every day to this case." Lydia reminds him, gently. "We're people too. We're allowed a break. And we will catch this person, I promise. Knowing Aldertree, he'll end up assigning at least another two people to this case, if the need arises, and hopefully with more help it will take less time."

"I hope so." Alec eyes the sign hanging on the back door, a carved wooden heart with  _For Paul, Love Sophie_  deeply engraved into it. "I really, really hope so."

 

* * *

 

Magnus has many passions in life. His acting, certainly, is one of them, as is his quest for equality, and his love of Portugese takeout.

Among them is his love for fashion, a passion that has stuck with him for years and only grown with each new piece of item he aquires. He hopes to one day have his own line, but before that can happen he needs designs for the clothes he'd include in his collection.

Which is why he finds himself curled up in the corner of his couch on Tuesday night, sketchpad open on his lap, pencil in hand and glass of Merlot sitting on his coffee table.

Interestingly, he is not alone in his company.

"This wine is delicious, where did you get it?"

Magnus smiles, reaching for his own glass. "The Bordeaux region of France, maybe four years ago?" The memory is faint but fond. "I had gone over to England to meet with Ragnor, and he insisted that I travel with home over to France. He can be a stuffy old grump at times, but his taste in wine is impeccable."

Isabelle swirls her own glass, staring at her drink curiously. She's perched on the other side of the couch, legs folded beneath her, laptop open on her knees.

"You don't talk about him a lot," She says, softly. "All I know of him is that he's studying at Cambridge for a Masters in ... Art Culture?"

"He's unsure whether he wants to curate or teach, so he's dragging his studies as long as he can." Magnus smiles fondly at the thought of his old friend. "It's been a while since we've seen each other, I don't really think to bring him up."

Truthfully, it's a little more than that, but Magnus isn't quite willing to divulge the real reasons.

Isabelle stares at him above the rim of her glass. Her dark eyes reveal her thoughts, that she doesn't believe him, but is willing to accept it for the time being. It's all Magnus can hope for.

"How's Cat?"

Another person Isabelle hasn't met, and whom Magnus hasn't spend much time with recently.

Magnus erases a faint line carefully. "Good, last time I checked. She's been flat out at the hospital all month, ever since she moved to the E.R department. She's a very good doctor, but all this work is going to run her into the ground."

"It's a shame you can't offer her a holiday or something," Isabelle says, off-handedly. "Even just a weekend."

Magnus hums, his pencil pointed into his sketchpad. It's not a bad idea, though it's very rare Isabelle's ideas  _aren't_ good. "Perhaps I should look into it. Maybe for the Fourth of July weekend - that way she'll have a few months to book time off."

"I'm sure she'll love that." Isabelle taps idly at her keyboard, and Magnus returns to his sketching.

He's currently working on a gown, one with a chiffon overskirt that floats outwards so that it appears like the wearer is floating across the floor. He has the idea in mind, but he can't quite get it out onto paper. The shape of the skirt isn't coming out right, he can't get it to curve the way it is in his mind, which is perhaps the most infuriating part.

He hopes to one day have the chance to make what is on the paper a reality, but as he hasn't yet gotten that far, he's happy to keep his creations within the pages of his sketchpad and the unlimited expanse of his imagination.

"How was your date?"

They'd been sitting in a peaceful silence for what must have been a good twenty minutes, before Isabelle had broken the silence. Magnus admires her straight-forwardness, even when it is at his own expense.

"I imagine you won't accept  _'I don't know what you're talking about'_ as a response?" He asks, shading the sleeveless bust of the gown.

"It's unlikely." Isabelle admits. "But if you want to try, I'm not going to stop you."

She's teasing, but Magnus knows better than to doubt her. He traces the outline of the bust delicately, concentrating on the design and not the force of Isabelle's gaze on him. He knows he can't squirm out of this, and it's not necessarily that he doesn't want to - but Isabelle is  _Alexander's sister_ , and talking to her about their brief first date feels like he's betraying Alec's privacy.

"Did you have fun?" Isabelle asks. It's a leading question, and one that Magnus is completely aware he's walking in to.

"We had a pleasant time," Magnus gives. "Alec is wonderful company. And admittedly quite easy on the eyes, if I am in the business of divulging such information."

Isabelle's eyes actually light up at the news. Apparently that was too much information for her to handle all at once. "So I wasn't mistaken when you met at the ball, then?" Isabelle winks. "I caught the way you too looked at each other. The sexual tension was suffocating."

Magnus glances up, amused. "Does your brother know you talk so openly about his love life?"

"Yeah." Isabelle shrugs. "He isn't a big fan, but he can't exactly stop me."

Magnus imagines there isn't much that can stop Isabelle when she wants something. He adds a thin band of lace at the waist of his design, something simple but elegant to tie the whole dress together.

"We're having dinner tomorrow night," Magnus adds, sweeping his pencil lightly across his page in a small signature. Never too early to claim credit on one's work. "In case you're interested."

"Good to hear," Isabelle tilts down the lid of her laptop. "Not that I'll be in our apartment anyway."

At this, Magnus glances up, his attention properly distributed elsewhere. "Oh?"

Isabelle smirks, but it's not teasing or smug. It's entirely and completely enamoured and Magnus couldn't be happier to see it. "Yeah. I have a date. With Lydia Branwell, the detective that Alec is working on this case with?"

"I bet Alec is pleased to hear that," Magnus jokes. He can't see Alec standing in the way of his sister's happiness, but it's an interesting thing to consider, that they're both basically dating each other's colleagues.

"Apparently he joked around about it," Isabelle smiles at the thought. "But he's respectful about it, which is all I need. We were supposed to go out tonight, actually, but then something happened with the case, and I have your invoices to catch up on..."

"I could have handled that," Magnus moves his sketchpad to the coffee table, pencil and eraser lying atop it. "If I'd known you had a date, I would have given you the day off."

"It's okay," Isabelle smiles gratefully. "We're going to the Hunter's Moon, that cute little bar that Maia usually works at. It's a first date, it doesn't have to be anything too big or dramatic."

Isabelle's usually bright and enthralling energy is dimmed, soft and relaxed. They may not have been on a date yet, but he has a feeling that Isabelle and Lydia will progress much further than just drinks.

"So, you like her then?"

Isabelle startles, caught out on her wistful daydream. She closes her laptop and slides it to the table, scooting up the couch closer to Magnus, until their knees are touching like they're gossiping BFFS in high school.

"She's great. We've met once, and talked for maybe all up an hour? I shouldn't be so ... she just makes it so easy to like her. She's beautiful, and so incredibly smart and witty, not to mention very straightforward which I appreciate."

She's staring dreamily, and Magnus wonders if that's how he looks when he talks about people he's interested in. They haven't been on a date, and yet Isabelle is already talking like she's been crushing on this woman for a month.

Isabelle shakes her head self-deprecatingly. "It's ridiculous that I like her so much after such little time, but I can't wait to see her again. The idea of this date excites me so much I feel a little anxious."

"Your feelings are not ridiculous," Magnus states, firm but not unkind. "Nor are they invalid. There is no time limit on how you feel about someone. Perhaps it's just a thin attraction resting on the surface, it probably hasn't transcended into anything deeper, so there is no reason to worry. But your feelings are still valid."

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it encouragingly.

"I adore your brother," He admits, even though he wasn't planning to. "And we've met twice. Yet my heart actually skipped a beat inside of my chest this afternoon when he sent an image of a coffee machine. He wasn't even in the picture, but the notion was so sweet that it actually overwhelmed me. And the caption was quite amusing."

He strokes his thumb along the back of her hand, and when Isabelle smiles hesitantly, he wastes no time smiling back.

"Thank you," Isabelle whispers. "I think I needed to hear that."

"A lot of the time we aren't aware of what we need to hear until we've heard it." Magnus smiles gently. "I'm glad I could help."

Isabelle leans over and rests her head against Magnus' shoulder. A little surprised, it takes Magnus a quick minute to move. He wraps his arm around her back, and it's nice and warm - Magnus had to build his own family, and Isabelle has wormed her way in there without him really noticing. Or caring.

"You're a pretty great boss," Isabelle admits, her head tucked against his neck.

"Thank you," Magnus kisses the top of her head, her hair soft beneath his lips.

"However," Isabelle adds, quietly. "I think it's possible that you're an even better friend."

Magnus squeezes the arm wrapped around her, and hums. "There's no point in wasting time with societal pleasantries. Let's be honest with ourselves," He waits until curiosity gets the better of her, and she looks up. His eyes lock onto hers, and he smiles.

"We're family, Isabelle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check my [my tumblr](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com) or my [fandom side-blog](http://drugs-and-candy.tumblr.com) to talk to me, about shadowhunters or malec or anything else that takes your fancy! 
> 
> (if anyone is interested in live-tweeting feel free to use the tag #sscfic ❤️ I'll be sure to check them out)
> 
> otherwise I will see you (hopefully soon) for 'A Burning Flame'

**Author's Note:**

> Currently, there is no schedule for this story - I am planning on posting chapters every two/three weeks, but there will definitely be at least one chapter a month. Thanks for reading!


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